


By the Book

by penna_nomen



Series: Caffrey Conversation [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Asthma, Drowning, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve, Paternal!Peter, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penna_nomen/pseuds/penna_nomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal’s first undercover assignment goes awry at a New Year’s Eve party. <br/>Cases: A doctor may have been kidnapped. A rare book is stolen. </p>
<p>An FBI legend mentors Peter. Neal meets El & Satchmo. Peter meets Mozzie. Peter has revelations about being a father figure. Neal starts connecting with his Caffrey relatives.</p>
<p>H/C: asthma, two emergency room visits, broken arm<br/>Angst: Memory of abuse & drowning. Why does Neal hate guns?<br/>Fluff: Neal as Harry Potter, Pride & Prejudice references (Neal doesn't want to be Darcy)<br/>Dec 2003-Jan 2004 CC AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting him<br/>Characters: Neal, Peter, Hughes, Jones, Elizabeth, Mozzie, June, Byron, Agent Rice, Kate</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation to the Party

**Author's Note:**

> White Collar and its characters are the creation of Jeff Eastin. They are not mine and I make no profit from playing with them. 
> 
> This is my third entry in the Caffrey Conversation AU, which is based on a premise that Peter recruits Neal to work for the FBI as a consultant in 2003. Neal is 24, hasn’t been to prison and doesn’t have a tracking anklet. Although it’s part of a series, this story can stand alone. 
> 
> While the story does have angst and H/C, the party scenes in the early chapters are frothy, fun and light. I designed those sections to be bubbly and to serve as the champagne for this New Year’s story. Cheers!

**White Collar Division, New York.  December 30, 2003 - Tuesday morning.**

Another day, another mortgage fraud case to research.  Neal Caffrey had been working at the FBI as a consultant for two weeks now, and was disappointed at how boring it was.  Special Agent Peter Burke had warned him he’d be doing research for a while, but he’d never imagined how difficult it would be, stuck at a desk eight hours a day, surrounded by agents who were betting on when he’d mess up or give up.  He’d stooped to drinking the Bureau’s horrendous coffee.  It was only 10:30am, and already he needed the boost of caffeine to keep going.

“Hey, Caffrey,” Agent Jones said, grabbing the coffee pot.

Jones was the friendliest of the bunch, maybe because he was closest to Neal’s age and had suffered through being the new guy himself not too long ago.  But Jones was also having a lot of closed-door meetings with Peter.  Neal guessed that Jones was either assigned to befriend him, or to watch him, or both.  “How’s that burglary case going?” Neal asked, itching to look into something that involved his actual expertise.  “You know I could…  Who’s that?”

An agent Neal didn’t recognize was striding across the bullpen.  “Burke!” she yelled.  “I need your team, pronto!”

“We got trouble,” said Jones.  “That’s Agent Kimberly Rice, from Missing Persons.”

“She’s the one who beat out Agent Wiese for the lead job?”  Wiese was a woman about Peter’s age.  With auburn hair, green eyes, freckles, and an epic frown, she looked like a Celtic Valkyrie when she got mad.

“You’re keeping up with the rumor mill, aren’t you?  That was about two months before you started.  Wiese moved to White Collar rather than work for Rice.  Still some bad blood there.  I do not want to get in the middle of that.”

“But you want to watch.”

“Hell, yeah,” Jones said, joining the crowd of agents milling in the center of the bullpen.

Peter stepped out of his office to meet Rice at the top of the stairs.  “Agent Rice, you could’ve called first.”

“No time.  This is urgent.”  She swept into Hughes’ office. 

Peter followed and shut the door behind him, with a glance down at the bullpen.  He shrugged down at his agents, then took a seat.  After what looked like a heated discussion, Hughes stepped out of his office to stand at the glass half wall.  Looking down at the agents he said, “In the conference room, all of you.  We have a change of plans today.”

Once the team had gathered, Hughes said, “Agent Rice is requesting our assistance with a Missing Persons case.  The prime suspect in the case works for L&B Industrial Supplies, which as you know we have been investigating.  Agent Wiese, I believe you took the lead on that case.”

“That’s right, sir,” Tricia Wiese said.  “We were looking into Bennet Sinclair, until he took a leave of absence starting three weeks ago.  With him out of the picture, the case went cold.”

“He’s back in the picture now,” Rice said.  “Think you can keep up with him this time?”

“Agent Rice,” Hughes said, “If you want my team’s help, then back off.  Wiese, we’ll need to pull you in as our expert on Sinclair.  I want you and Agent Jones to hand off your current investigation to be part of a cross-departmental team jointly led by Agents Rice and Burke.  Now, who can take over the burglary case Wiese and Jones were assigned this morning?”

Neal immediately raised his hand.

“Caffrey, put your hand down,” Hughes ordered.

“But –”

“I said, _put it down_.  You’re joining the missing persons case, assuming your personnel file is accurate.  It says you speak fluent French.  Can you convince a native that you’re from France?”

Neal couldn’t help smiling.  “ _Oui, monsieur_.”  This _had_ to be better than mortgage fraud.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

With most of the White Collar division dismissed to continue their case work, Wiese, Jones and Neal waited in the conference room for Rice to return with members of her team.  Hughes’ assistant was ordering lunch, indicating they should expect to spend several hours together in the briefing and planning for their new case.  This would be their last break for some time, meaning…

“I spent most of the holidays watching those two Harry Potter movies with my niece and nephew,” Jones said.  “They weren’t bad, you know, for kids’ movies.”

Exactly as expected.  Next Jones was going to ask how Neal had spent Christmas.  The most fun Neal had at work these last few days had been avoiding giving Peter any details about what he’d done over his long weekend in D.C.  Now Peter was using a proxy to go fishing for information.  Neal smiled innocently.  “Tricia, didn’t you say your kids were big Harry Potter fans?”

Agent Wiese looked up from her notes about the burglary case she was turning over.  “Oh, yes.  They can’t wait for the third movie to come out this summer.  If they liked the movies, Jones, they should really buy the books.”

“Isn’t that _read_ the books?” Neal asked. 

“I’m sorry?” Tricia asked.

“Isn’t the saying: if you liked the movie, you should read the book?”

Jones shook his head.  “I thought it was: if you liked the movie, you should try the book.”

Tricia shrugged.  “I’ve been working a lot of copyright and intellectual property cases lately.  I guess it’s ingrained in my mind now, that you should buy the book and let the author get the royalties.”

“Works for me,” Neal said, having achieved his goal of directing the conversation away from Christmas.  “ _Buy the book_ it is.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Peter, as he stepped into the room.  “Your first big case, Caffrey.  This one is definitely going to be by the book.  Understood?”

“Absolutely.  I promise I’ll stay focused.  No going off on tangents like talking about what I did over Christmas.”

“That’s not –” Peter started.

“I’m going to get some coffee to make sure I stay focused.”  Neal zipped out of the conference room.

“- what I meant,” Peter finished.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Someday, Peter promised himself, he would learn to read Neal.  As things stood now, he couldn’t tell if Neal actually had anything to hide about what he’d done in D.C., or if it simply amused him to make Peter worry that he had something to hide.

The kid had been bored.  Peter got that.  He hoped he hadn’t let the kid get so bored that Neal had done something one of them would regret. 

Peter had promised to transition Neal into bigger cases and field work around the first of the year.  They were right on schedule.  But he’d never intended Neal to have such a pivotal role in his first big case.  He’d envisioned Neal sitting in the van, providing support and insight for the rest of the team – that would have been a reasonable next step.  Not going undercover, especially not undercover alone.  Hell, this was a suspected kidnapping.  What did Neal even know about kidnappers? 

Rice said it didn’t matter.  She needed someone fluent in French who could pass a message in a New Year’s Eve party.  Simple.  Hughes agreed it was low risk, even for someone as inexperienced as Neal.  All Peter could do now was review the plan for any holes, and make sure Neal was prepared.

“Listen up, everyone,” Rice said as she and her team arrived in the conference room.  Neal slipped in behind them, a cup of coffee in hand.  “Time is short.  Let’s get through this briefing as quickly as we can.”  She projected three photos on the wall and pointed to the first.  “Bennet ‘Benny’ Sinclair, VP and partner at L&B, suspected of a variety of white collar crimes.  The next photo is his oldest daughter, Bethanne Jane, age fifteen.  Marie,” Rice pointed to the last photo, “Bethanne’s stepmother.”

“Nice,” said Jones under his breath to Peter.  “Mr. Sinclair did all right for himself.”

“A couple of years ago,” Rice continued, “Bethanne started having health problems.  Benny and Marie took her to several doctors, but weren’t satisfied with the results.  Then a month ago, they took her to a clinic that specializes in respiratory ailments.  They diagnosed Bethanne with Redding-Kotz syndrome.  Currently, the only treatment for Redding-Kotz is a lung transplant.  The clinic also told the Sinclairs about a new treatment being developed by LCD Pharmaceuticals here in New York.  The treatment isn’t ready for human trials yet, but Benny contacted the head researcher, a Dr. Liam Collins.” 

Rice projected a different photo on the wall.  “This is Collins.  Benny invited him to the Sinclair home in Connecticut.  The doctor was supposed to tell Bethanne about the research he’s doing, and give her hope for a cure.  The last anyone has seen Dr. Collins is when Benny picked him up at LCD on Friday, the twenty-sixth of this month.  Instead of going back to work on Monday, he called in a request for supplies to be shipped to the Sinclair home.  Based on what he requested, LCD suspects Dr. Collins is being coerced into beginning treatments on Bethanne.”

“Are you sure he’s being coerced?” Tricia asked.  “Maybe it was Collins’ idea.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  We tried to contact Collins directly yesterday, but there’s no answer on his cell phone, and when we call the Sinclair house we’re told he can’t talk.  To get eyes on the situation, we sent the medical supplies with an agent dressed as a delivery man first thing this morning, and our agent insisted that he had to stay until Collins inspected the supplies and signed for them.  Collins rejected one box, and when we opened it there was a note from Collins, telling us that Sinclair had threatened Collins’ son.  His ex-wife has custody, and we’ve assigned an agent to guard both of them until Collins is released.”

“What’s Neal’s role in this?” Peter asked.

“We have to assume that Sinclair will be suspicious of any visitors or messages we try to send to Collins.  But he and his wife are hosting a New Year’s Eve party tomorrow night.”

“Going to slip someone in with the catering staff?” Jones suggested.  “Is Caffrey going to be a French chef?”

“We considered that route, but then we found a better option. Professor Thomas Gardiner is a neighbor of the Sinclairs and he confirmed he’s on the guest list. Our best shot at getting someone inside the party is with him.”

Peter smiled.  “Gardiner.  I remember him.”

“Who’s Gardiner?” Neal asked.

“Former FBI,” Peter explained.  “He was a legend until an injury forced him to retire.  He left the Bureau to teach law at Yale.”

“Why do you need to send someone undercover if you have a legend in the party?” Neal asked.

“The injury blinded him,” Rice said.  “There’s no way he could be sure he’s alone to deliver a message, and wandering around the house to look for Collins is out.  But he and his wife have a tradition of hosting international students attending Yale.  The latest one arrived from France this week to live with them for the coming semester.  Other than the Gardiners, no one going to the party has met him yet.  He was invited to the party, and Caffrey is going in his place.  Put on your dancing shoes, Caffrey.  You’re going to a party.”

“You said I need to convince a native that I’m French,” Neal said.  “Who, specifically?”

“Multiple people,” Rice told him.  “Marie Sinclair was born and raised in France. Benny always seeks out people who can speak her language. That’s why the Gardiners are invited even though you would expect Benny to avoid anyone with ties to the FBI; Mrs. Gardiner is a professor of French Literature at Yale.  Several of the guests are from or have lived in France.  You’ll be expected to speak English most of the time, but you’ll also need to converse in French occasionally, and to maintain an accent when speaking English.  They’re serving dinner at 8:00, with the party lasting past midnight, of course.  Can you pass as French for five hours or more?”

Neal nodded.  “The trick is to keep thinking in French, even when speaking English.  Then I’ll default to French or to English with a French accent.  I won’t slip up.  What’s the message I’m supposed to deliver?”

“Tell Collins that his family is safe and that we’ll be there at 8am the next morning to extract him.  We’ll be in another delivery truck and will have a warrant to search the house.  We want him to find an excuse to be outside, near the front entrance, so we can get him into the truck and away from Sinclair.  We’re going to abduct him back.”  Rice looked up as sandwiches were carried in.  “Okay, that’s lunch.  I’m going to check on the status of Collins’ son, and then we’ll continue with the plans for tomorrow.”

Neal reached into the pile of sandwiches.  “Who ordered deviled ham?” 

“Peter,” said Jones and Tricia.

Neal grabbed a ham-and-swiss, and the deviled ham.  “Catch!”  He tossed Peter’s sandwich across the table. 

Peter caught the sandwich automatically, but his mind was still stuck on Rice’s words.  _Abduct him_.  “You know, I need something better than Bureau brew to go with this.  I’m going down to the coffee shop across the street.  Neal, you’re coming with me.”

Neal followed with a smile and idle chatter.  But as soon as the elevator doors closed, he went quiet and studied Peter.  “You’ve already told me you aren’t a coffee snob.  What’s going on?”

“I know you’re desperate for a case that gets you into the field.  But I need you to think seriously about passing on this one.  I don’t think you should work a kidnapping as your first case.”

“A forgery or art theft would have been ideal, but this isn’t exactly rocket science, Peter.  I can handle it.”

“Can you?”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“The day Hitchum sprained your wrist, you had a flashback to when you were nine.  You mentioned you were abducted.  I think this case might hit a little too close to home for you.  How are you going to keep up the pretense of being from France if you’re flashing back to being an abused child in States?”

Neal rolled his eyes.  “I also told you that I go years between flashbacks.”

“It was the second one I witnessed in a month.”

“C’mon, Peter.  That first time I was overdosed on prescription cold meds.  That’s not gonna happen again.  Plus the legendary Thomas Gardiner will have my back.  Think of how much I can learn from him.  How often will I get a chance to work with a legend?”

Peter closed his eyes as he argued with himself.  Part of him said it was simply too risky.  The other part said he needed to let Neal have this opportunity.  He opened his eyes and saw they were nearly at the ground floor.  “You really want this?”

“Of course I do.  Peter, why did you hire a known con artist if not to use my skills?  Convincing people I’m something I’m not, getting them to believe me and do what I want, that’s what you need in this assignment, and that’s what I did for a living.  I’m good at this.  If you won’t let me do this, then I have to wonder if you’re ever going to let me do anything.”

The doors opened and they stepped into the lobby.  When they were outside the building Peter said, “It’s not your skills I doubt.”  Seeing the look on Neal’s face, he said, “I know I’m not good at explaining this stuff.  I don’t doubt you, Neal.  I worry about you.”

“You told me worrying about your team is part of your job.”

“Yeah.”  Peter remembered saying that.  It was different with Neal, though.  Ever since a feverish Neal had introduced Peter as his stepfather a few weeks ago, Peter felt a higher level of responsibility toward Neal.  Being a father figure wasn’t easy.  “I’ll make you a deal.  You tell me what you did over Christmas, and I won’t stand in the way of your taking this assignment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving this story a try! I hope you’ll keep reading.
> 
> The character Agent Rice comes from the season 1 episode Front Man.
> 
> In order to keep track of characters at the party, I chose names from Pride & Prejudice. This story doesn’t have a P&P plot, and my characters aren’t modern clones of their namesakes. For a list of the P&P-inspired names, see our blog: http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/05/by-book-panic-phrase.html
> 
> Silbrith and I have created a Pinterest board for the stories in this series, with visuals of characters and locations: http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/


	2. Accessories

**Federal Building, New York.  December 30, 2003 - Tuesday afternoon.**

Neal considered Peter’s offer as they purchased coffee and walked back across the plaza.  In the lobby, waiting for the elevator, he said, “Okay.  You promise you’ll be fully supportive of me going undercover for this case, and I’ll tell you how I spent Christmas.”

“You got it,” said Peter as the elevator dinged its arrival.

They stepped inside.  “I went to a Christmas Eve midnight mass at the church where my parents were married, so I started out Christmas Day as innocently as you could imagine.  It was lovely, Peter.  The architecture…”  He trailed off, aware of Peter’s annoyance.

“I didn’t ask for a commentary on architecture.”

“Right.  I went back to my hotel room for the rest of the night, and later went down to the lobby for their Christmas brunch.  They had the most incredible…”  Neal hid a grin as he could almost hear Peter gritting his teeth.  “No commentary on the food either, I got it.  I had a D.C. map and a set of addresses, and planned my tour of the city.  First I went to the precinct where my father worked.  It was slow there, of course, and probably hasn’t been renovated since he worked there.”

“You went _inside_ the police station?”

“Yeah, I told them I wanted to pay a parking ticket.  They said that I’d have to come back the next day.   Then I drove to the neighborhood where my parents lived when I was born.  There’s a park nearby, and I sat on one of the benches to do a few sketches of the neighborhood and the place we lived.  By then I was getting cold, and I walked to a Chinese restaurant that had been a favorite back when we lived there.  I think the restaurant isn’t up to its old standards, because I can’t imagine my mother, the gourmet chef, actually liking the food they were serving.”

“You said you were going to skip the food reviews,” Peter reminded him. 

“Food was a big part of my day.  Anyway, my mother had attended George Washington University, so I wandered through the campus, did some more sketching.  You'll be glad to hear that the campus cafe was closed.  Next stop was the family plot in a local cemetery, where my uncle is buried.  I should have taken flowers, but I didn’t think I could find a florist open on the holiday.  But I did find a great little Vietnamese restaurant for dinner.”

“You really are fixated on food.”

“Everyone’s fixated on food over the holidays,” Neal protested.  “After dinner I stopped at the movie theater where my parents had their first date.  I got a ticket for _Love Actually_ and bought some especially delicious popcorn, and after the movie ended I went back to the hotel.”  He gave Peter a mischievous choirboy smile.  “And that’s how I spent Christmas.”

“And then?”

“There’s no _and then_.  Christmas ended.”

“You spent two more days in D.C.”

“Yes, I did.  But those days weren’t Christmas.  I promised to tell you how I spent Christmas, and now I’ve kept my side of the bargain.”   

They exited at the twenty-first floor and walked back toward the conference room.  Neal thought Peter wasn’t going to comment on his perfectly innocent Christmas, but the agent said, “I got the impression your mother didn’t talk about her past.  So I have to wonder how you knew all these places to go.  Please tell me you didn’t use FBI resources to investigate your parents.”

“I didn’t have to, but what difference would it make?”

“First, FBI resources are intended for case work, not for our personal lives.  Second, the Marshals told me it would be a bad idea to run a search on your father.  They said the people he and your mother and Ellen are hiding from may have continued to rise in the ranks of law enforcement or government, and could be in a position to monitor for searches on your dad’s name.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

Peter sighed.  “I should have guessed you’d be tempted to see what the FBI has on them.  But are you saying you didn’t look them up?”

“Jones warned me the Bureau monitors everything we do on the computers here, and I didn’t want anything to be logged other than case work while I’m proving myself.”  He had used a colleague’s computer one evening to see if the Bureau had anything on Mozzie, but hadn’t ventured beyond that, yet.

“Then how did you know your parents’ old address, and where they went on their first date?”

“Did you really think I could find where they went on their first date from a Federal database?  Because if the answer is yes, I really am going to start taking George Orwell more seriously.”

“Will you just answer the question?  I want a chance to eat my deviled ham before Hurricane Rice blows in again.”

“Henry Winslow told me.”

“Of course.  All roads lead to Henry Winslow. He’s a real person?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you swear he’s not a criminal?”

Neal pretended to think about it.

“NEAL!” It might have been a shout if Peter weren’t gritting his teeth again.

“He has a perfectly legitimate full-time job.”

“So do a lot of white collar criminals.  Why can’t you give me a straight answer about this guy?”

Neal could tell from the gleam in Peter’s eyes on prior occasions that despite his complaints, he enjoyed the challenge of trying to trick Neal into revealing information about Henry.  But he had a feeling he’d pushed Peter far enough this time.  “He’s no angel, but he’s not guilty of more than a few youthful indiscretions, Peter.  You’re right, let’s get lunch.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The plan, as Agent Rice described it that afternoon, seemed simple enough.  Wednesday afternoon the team would travel to Connecticut, where they would meet FBI-agent-turned-law-professor Thomas Gardiner and his wife.  Gardiner would tell them what he could about Benny Sinclair and the Sinclair household before the Gardiners took Neal to the party. 

The Bureau would outfit Neal with a few accessories.  First was a watch that would let Peter and the team hear everything that Neal heard and said at the party.  Neal was surprised they wouldn’t issue an ear-piece, too, in order to communicate with him.  But they explained the two-way communication devices were rather bulky to go unnoticed for so long, and that new agents in particular found it distracting to listen to FBI commentary while trying to participate in the conversations around them.  Rice said if they needed to tell Neal anything, they’d send him a text.

The second accessory was an inhaler. 

“Sinclair hasn’t made a secret of the fact that he’s procured a personal physician for his daughter.  That means people will expect to meet Dr. Collins at the party.  You should see him there, but we can’t count on being able to talk to him.  If Sinclair suspects that we’re onto him, he might try to keep Collins away from people, or stay by his side to make sure he doesn’t ask for help.  If you need a way to get to Collins, you’ll fake an asthma attack.  Since Collins is an expert on respiratory issues, everyone will expect him to help you.  The inhaler is to help you sell the act.  It will be filled with a water-based solution to make it look and sound like you’re getting medication,” Rice explained.

While everyone else went back to their desks, a member of Agent Rice’s team who actually did have asthma walked Neal through what an asthma attack looked and felt like, and how to use an inhaler.

After the agent was satisfied with his rendition of an attack, they were leaving the conference room when a thought occurred to Neal.  “No one told me what my alias is for this assignment.  Do you know the French student’s name?”

“Yeah, it should be in here.”  The agent opened a file, flipping through pages until he found one with a photo of an eighteen-year-old boy.  He pointed to a name.  “There you go.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“There a problem?”

“Peter!” Neal yelled.

Peter opened the door connecting his office to the conference room.  “I’m right next door, you know.  You don’t have to scream.  What’s going on?”

Neal pointed to the name in the file.  “Is this supposed to be some kind of FBI hazing ritual?”

Peter looked at the name.  “I can’t even pronounce it.”

“Guillaume D’Arcy,” Neal said.  When Peter and the other agent gave him blank looks, he said, “Translated, it’s William Darcy.”

There was a glimmer of recognition in Peter’s eyes.  “He’s that character, from that movie.  The one El always wants to watch.  _Pride & Prejudice_?”

“Finally,” Neal said.  “So you understand.”

“Uh, no.  What’s the problem?”

“Peter, I cannot walk into a party filled with women…  Not just women, but women with alcohol, and announce that I’m one of the most famous romantic leads in English literature.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t get any work done.  They’ll…  They’ll…”  Neal sighed.  “When you go home tonight, tell Elizabeth that _you’re_ supposed to go undercover as William Darcy.  Then we’ll talk.”

The other agent finally spoke up.  “Glasses.”

“What?” Neal asked.

“We give you glasses as part of your disguise.  Makes you look more like a bookish student, rather than a romantic lead.”

Neal shrugged.  “Whatever it takes.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal got back to the mansion on Riverside Drive, he was about to start climbing the stairs up to his apartment, but noticed voices coming from the music room.  At first he thought that Byron was having a good day and would want to share another story about his old exploits, but instead Neal found June and Mozzie sharing a bottle of wine.  “Hey, Mozz.  I wasn’t expecting to see you until after New Year’s.”

“Things wrapped up earlier than expected, and I wanted to check out your new place.  Your landlady is exquisite.”  He raised his glass to toast her.

“Why thank you, sir,” June said, with a smile that hinted at sadness.

“How’s Byron?” Neal asked, although he could guess from her expression.

“Not well, I’m afraid.  He’s sleeping now.”

Neal sat down on the sofa beside her.  He’d do what he could to distract her a while.  “The FBI is finally letting me do field work.  I’ll be going undercover at an exclusive New Year’s party outside New Haven.”

“Oh, I’d hoped you could join us for a little celebration here.”

“I could,” Mozzie volunteered.

“Thank you, Mozzie, I know Byron would love to meet you.  But tell us about this party, Neal.  What will you be doing?”

“Nothing very impressive.  Just posing as a student from Yale, and passing a message to someone.  The most challenging part of it is the alias.  The student I’m impersonating is named William Darcy.”

Mozzie and June both gasped.  “Beware the Jane Austen curse!” Mozzie declared.

“The what?” Neal asked.

“Anytime a con uses the alias William Darcy, things go terribly wrong.  I could give you examples that would curdle your blood.”

“There’s no such thing as a curse, Mozzie.”

“Call it a string of bad karma if you want, but the examples go back for decades.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” June added.  “William Darcy is a very unlucky alias.  You’d be wise to have a backup plan.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter got home, he also had to break the news that he wouldn’t be available New Year’s Eve.  Elizabeth wasn’t thrilled, but she had gotten used to this sort of thing.  “At least we had a whole, uninterrupted week for Christmas,” she said.  “Where will you be?”

“We’re helping out Missing Persons.  They believe a doctor is being held at the home of a suspected white collar criminal in Connecticut.  The best chance to get inside and look for him is during a New Year’s Eve party at the house.”

El paused in folding the laundry.  “Do we need to pull out your tux for this one?”

“Good question,” Peter said.  “I’ll check.  And there is one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The alias we’re using for this party…  It’s William Darcy.”

El pushed the laundry aside.  “Reeeeeally,” she purred, and she sat up a little straighter.  It did wonderful things for her cleavage.  “I’ve always wanted to have my way with Mr. Darcy.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Wednesday morning, Peter was waiting at Neal’s desk.  As soon as Neal arrived, Peter stood up and told him, “D’Arcy’s middle name is Charles.  That’s how you’ll introduce yourself.” 

“Thank you!”

Peter stepped away from the desk, and stared at Neal.  “What’s with the hat?”

“It’s a fedora.  Classic Rat Pack.  Their look is making a resurgence in Paris, and I’m supposed to be French.”

Peter rolled his eyes.  “You can keep the skinny tie, but you’re not wearing a hat to the party.  You look like a cartoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal scoffs at the idea of a curse now, but later in the Caffrey Conversation series, Silbrith has added crossovers with Supernatural. Her story Whispers in the Night has Neal and Peter investigating when people in a New Jersey town fall victim to a dorkiness curse.


	3. Etiquette Lessons

**White Collar Division, New York.  December 31, 2003 – Wednesday morning.**

“The situation is more complicated than we originally thought,” Hughes said when he addressed the team.  “Agent Rice exaggerated the content of the note from Collins.  It did not explicitly ask for help or indicate a threat to his family.  It only said, ‘I’m doing this for my son’ which does not provide conclusive evidence that he’s being coerced or held against his will.  If we want a warrant to extract him and to search for evidence of a kidnapping and other crimes, we need more to go on.  Caffrey, when you talk to him, get him to say he needs our help.  Got that?”

“Yes, sir.  Um.  Even if he doesn’t?”  Not getting an answer, Neal elaborated, “Do you want me to trick him into saying he needs help, even if he doesn’t want it?”

Agent Rice nearly exploded.  “Of course he needs our help!”

“Settle down, Rice,” Hughes said.  “Yes, Caffrey, if at all possible we want to record Collins saying he’s there against his will and wants help, because we want a warrant to search that house.  Wiese, please fill the team in on what you discussed with Thomas Gardiner yesterday.”

Tricia plugged the projector into her laptop, and displayed a photo of a massive home.  It was almost as large as June’s mansion, but not nearly as tasteful.  “Benny Sinclair comes from money, but seventeen years ago he put everything he had into real estate.  He purchased four lots in an area outside of New Haven.” 

She projected another image, showing the Sinclair home as a massive island, surrounded by more moderate colonial-style homes.  “Each lot in this neighborhood is an acre.  He tore down the four homes that came on those acre lots and built what the neighbors refer to as ‘the monstrosity.’  He continued to invest nearly every dollar he earned into the property, adding pools, a tennis court, and so forth.  Then five years ago, to become a full partner in L&B, he needed to invest in the company.  The only asset he had was the house.  The company now owns the title, and lets him live in it rent-free as part of his benefits.  If he ever leaves the company, or if it folds, he loses his home.”

“You think that’s his motive?” Peter asked.

“Yes.  L&B has been struggling recently.  We believe Benny is playing outside the lines to keep their doors open.  He took a leave of absence after Bethanne’s diagnosis, but if we’re right, he must plan to continue his illegal activities.  Now he needs L&B to stay in business for his health insurance, too.  He can’t afford to pay for a lung transplant or expensive experimental treatments.  We’re certain that if we can get a warrant to search the house, we’ll find evidence of illegal business practices.”

“Why don’t I slip into his home office while I’m there and look for what you need?” Neal asked.  “With a house full of people, it wouldn’t be hard.  I could grab the evidence and bring it out with me.”

“No, Caffrey,” Hughes said.  “These are not exigent circumstances.”

“What are exigent circumstances?”

“We’ll get Peter to explain that to you later.  The point is, we don’t have a warrant.  Without a warrant, you’re just a party crasher investigating the possibility of a kidnapping.  Taking any property out of the house would be theft.  It’s inadmissible.”

“Unless we arrest you,” said Rice.  “If you’re arrested as a burglar, anything on you is evidence, and we can use it.”

“Isn’t that what we want?” Neal asked.  “Arrest me, get the evidence, drop the charges.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Peter.  “If we drop charges against an employee of the FBI, it’s obvious it was a set up and we were gaming the system.  Anyway, Sinclair would press charges.  If you steal anything from his home, you can count on going to prison.  Stick with the plan, and be a model guest.”

They were really taking the fun out of it, but Neal knew better than to say that out loud.

Tricia projected another photo, this one showing a collection of handguns.  “Here’s another reason to be a model guest,” she said.  “Thomas mentioned that Benny collects guns and goes to target practice regularly.  We checked, and found that he’s licensed to own five fire arms and has filed this photo and serial numbers with his insurance company.”

“And that brings us to the panic phrase,” Peter said.  “Neal, if you’re ever in danger on this assignment, you’re going to say ‘by the book’ and we’ll get you out of there.  I want you to promise, if you see Sinclair or anyone with a gun, you’ll use the panic phrase.”

It sounded as convoluted as Mozzie’s revered _The mockingbird dies at midnight_.  “Why the cloak and dagger?  I can just say, ‘why do you have that gun’ or ‘please don’t shoot me.’  That seems much simpler than trying to work a specific phrase into the conversation.”

“Protocol is that we don’t automatically jump in unless you use the panic phrase.  A seasoned agent will let us know things have escalated by mentioning a gun, but might want us to stay back while he works the situation if he thinks he can handle it alone.  In that case, we would wait until he signals that he needs help.  But _you_ are not a seasoned agent.  I expect you to give us the panic phrase immediately if someone threatens you with a weapon.  So if you see a gun, you say ‘by the book’ and we send help.”

“Will you be outside in one of those municipal vans?”

“Not this time,” Rice said.  “Too conspicuous in that setting.  We’ll set up shop in the Gardiners’ home.  It’s nearby, and has a line of sight to the Sinclair home so we can monitor people coming and going from the party.  All right, everyone, that’s it.  My team, meet at my office in an hour.  We’ll go through the checklist to make sure we have all the equipment we need, and will proceed to the Gardiner residence in my car.  Burke will be taking his team up.”

“My team, at my office in an hour,” Peter said.  As everyone filed out of the conference room, Peter said, “Neal, one more thing.”

“What’s up?”

“I know I said I’d fully support your involvement in this case.”

“Yes, you did.”  And Neal had every intention of holding him to that promise.

“But before you officially joined the FBI, you said something to me about guns.”

“Yeah, I said I don’t like them.  I’m not going to take one into the party, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Have you thought this through?  What are you going to do if Sinclair gets suspicious and grabs a gun?”

“Peter, in my, um, former profession, armed guards were a fact of life.  You know from my track record that it didn’t exactly hinder me.  Trust me.  I know what I’m doing.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.  Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“You are such a Dad,” Neal said, shaking his head as he strolled out of the conference room.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They took Peter’s car to New Haven.  Peter drove, of course, with Tricia in front.  Jones and Neal were in back.  At first Peter was pleased that Neal wasn’t up front, fiddling with the radio and complaining about his driving.  Instead Neal remained silent, and that might have worried Peter a little.  As a result, Peter may have taken the exit from the highway a little more sharply than he needed to, in order to elicit a reaction.  Tricia and Jones held on and yelled at Peter to slow it down.  Neal yelled something, too, but Peter couldn’t make out a word of it.

“What did you say, Caffrey?” Jones asked.

“ _Il conduit comme un fou_.” 

Again, Peter couldn’t understand a thing Neal said.

“You know you’re speaking French, don’t you?” Jones said.

“It’s easier,” Neal replied, in English this time, but with an accent they would hear the rest of the day.

If Peter had any doubts that Neal could convince Marie Sinclair he was French, those doubts vanished after arriving at the Gardiners’ home.  Peggy Gardiner, Guillaume D’Arcy and Neal Caffrey were speaking French at about ninety miles an hour when Peggy finally laughed and said in English, “I would never have guessed you’re an American.”  The two young men continued conversing a little longer, until a dejected Guillaume left the room.

“What’s up with him?” Jones asked.

“He didn’t mind missing a party with two professors, because he thought he could find a New Year’s party with drunk sorority girls on campus,” Neal said.

“It’s still winter break, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  The sorority girls are doing their drinking elsewhere.”

As the agents set up their monitoring equipment and verified that they were getting sound from the watch they gave Neal, Peter noticed that Neal frequently defaulted to French when asked a question.  Each time, the FBI team stared at him until he translated.

“Don’t any of your team speak French?” Peter asked Agent Rice.

“No, that’s the point of borrowing Neal.”

“But how are we supposed to monitor the conversations we’re hearing when it’s in French?”

Silence.

“Use Guillaume,” Neal suggested.  “He can translate for you.  He was excited about being around an FBI operation.”

Peter wasn’t thrilled about relying on a kid they’d only just met, but didn’t have much choice.  “Remember, the panic phrase is _by the book_.  This far away from the house, our response time is going to be several minutes.  As soon as you get a hint of danger, you need to give us the phrase.  Otherwise we might not get there in time.”

Neal nodded, but Peter could tell that his consultant didn’t believe he’d need to use the panic phrase.

“Humor me,” Peter said, and he thought about how Neal might try to bend the rules. “Tell us how _by the book_ sounds in French, in case you’re stuck in a situation where it would seem odd to start speaking English.”

Neal rolled his eyes, clearly unhappy at losing that loophole, but he taught them to recognize the translated phrase.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Peggy drove to the party, Thomas described the layout of the house to help orient Neal.  The couple were both familiar with the ground floor, and had a general idea of where things were located on the second floor.  Neither of them had been to the top floor.

“Did Peggy tell you about Marie?” Thomas asked.

Before Neal could answer, Peggy said, “Of course I didn’t.”

“Well, don’t you think he should know?”

“He’s going to guess her secret almost as soon as he meets her, dear.  You know it’s best if he finds out for himself.  Otherwise she’ll know we told.”

“Life in the ‘burbs is much more complex than I ever guessed when I lived in New York,” Thomas told Neal.  “What isn’t a secret is that Marie worked for the first Mrs. Sinclair.  It was becoming stylish, around the time Bethanne was born, to hire a European au pair.  The Sinclairs were divorced after Bethanne turned five.  Some people say Francine Sinclair had an affair.  Others say Marie convinced Benny there had been an affair.  Either way, Marie and Benny were married very soon afterward and had their first child very soon after that. Their daughter Katy is nine, and they have another daughter, seven-year-old Lily.  The thing to keep in mind is that Marie has Benny wrapped around her finger.  If Marie likes you, Benny likes you.  If you want freedom to roam the house and talk to Dr. Collins, you want Marie to like you.”

Within moments of meeting Marie, Neal guessed her secret.  She was no more French than he was.  She had a good vocabulary and a decent accent, but she also had the pause.  It was obvious she was translating what she heard into English, and then translating an English response back into French, because she couldn’t think in French.  They spent a few minutes with a group of French speakers, before Marie said, “ _Voulez-vous un verre de vin, Charles? Venez avec moi_.”

She led Neal to the massive living area, where a bar had been set up, but paused in an unoccupied corner of the room.  Her burgundy gown gleamed in the light from the cozy fireplace, and brought out red highlights in her deep brown hair.  “You’ve guessed my secret by now.  I’m not French.”

“Why do you pretend to be?”

“At first it was to get a job.  No one wanted to hire a history major.  But demand for French au pairs was skyrocketing.  It was just going to be a few years, until I finished college.  I didn’t count on falling in love with Benny.  His wife had betrayed him, you see, and he kept saying he loved how open and honest I was.  I couldn’t tell him I’d been fibbing about being French.”

“But after all this time, he still doesn’t know?”

“I’ve never told him, and I don’t think he’s guessed.  He doesn’t speak a word of French himself, you see.  He’s terrible at languages.  He collects French-speaking acquaintances to make up for it, and I admit the truth to them and ask for their secrecy.  It’s a little game, you see.  _Tu vas jouer le jeu, non_?”  She stroked Neal’s arm.

He was soooo happy he hadn’t been introduced as William Darcy.  “ _Comme vous voulez_.”

“You’re very charming, Charles.  And more mature than I expected.  When the Gardiners said they were bringing their newest student, I envisioned an eighteen-year-old boy with acne.”

It wasn’t a bad description of Guillaume.  “I’m studying the law.  You call it a graduate degree, I believe.”

“Yes, of course Thomas would want to sponsor a law student.”

They continued chatting until Marie needed to greet more guests.  Then Neal finally got a glass of wine, and scoped out the party.  There were four members of the catering staff in the dining room, preparing for the meal that would be served soon; more staff would be in the kitchen.  He counted forty guests, in addition to the family.  He might be older than Marie had expected, but he was clearly the youngest guest.  Other than the three daughters, he didn’t see anyone under thirty.

So it wasn’t a huge surprise that he was seated near the children when dinner was served.  Fortunately, Dr. Collins had been assigned the chair next to Bethanne. 

Unfortunately, Collins didn’t seem particularly interested in conversing with the children, and seemed to count Charles D’Arcy in that category.

A petite green-eyed blonde in a lilac dress, Bethanne was pale, and coughed occasionally, but didn’t look nearly as bad as Neal had expected for someone who needed an organ transplant.  But that wasn’t his area of expertise.  His main basis of comparison was Byron Ellington, who was suffering from a completely different disease.

Neal introduced himself to the people seated around him, and then turned to the oldest daughter.  “ _Et finalement, Bethanne Jane_.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Please, just Bethanne.  Bethanne Jane sounds like my parents couldn’t agree on a name and said, ‘Let’s call her Beth _and_ Jane.’”

Next to Bethanne, Katy said, “Ask him.  _Ask_ him.”

“No, I’m not going to.”

“Ask him,” Lily said.  She and Katy kept chanting it.

“Shut up,” said Bethanne.  “You’re being annoying.  They should have gotten you a babysitter.  _Je suis vraiment désolée, Mr. D’Arcy_.”

“ _Charles_.  _S’il vous plaît, appelle moi Charles_.”

“It’s just that they’re obsessed with your glasses.  The best thing you can do is ignore them.  That’s what I always do.”

That’s when Neal’s phone started to ring.  He had set it on silent, but he knew one person capable of hacking into his phone to override the settings and change the ringtone to one he knew he hadn’t purchased.  “ _Désolé_.”  He slipped into the next room to take the call.

“ _Mozzie,_ _mais à quoi tu penses, là_ _? Je travaille et personne ne dois savoir qui je suis. Et pourquoi est-ce que tu as changé ma sonnerie pour le thème d’Harry Potter_?”

“In English, Neal.”

“Sorry.  Why are you calling me?”

“I did some research on this Bennet Sinclair yesterday, and learned he inherited a set of rare, first edition books.”

“I heard he was almost broke.  If he had something that valuable, he would have sold it.”

“I can’t find any record of a sale of the books in question.  It’s possible he doesn’t know their value.  That would explain why he doesn’t have them listed in his insurance policy.  He owns a pristine, first edition _Paradise Lost_ by Milton.  Rumor has it there’s a code that was included only in the first edition that -”

“That’s fascinating.  But if you found this information yesterday, why are you calling me about it now?”

“Well, I suspected you wouldn’t be willing to acquire the book for me.”

“Right.”

“And so I talked to another contact, who expressed an interest in making the attempt during the party.”

“Now, Mozz?”

“It’s ideal timing.  With guests and caterers going in and out, the doors won’t even be locked.  I wasn’t going to tell you.  You know, in case you felt obliged to tell your new government overlords.  It’s not like this should interfere with what they’re doing.  But then I thought you might notice something if you’re also skulking around the house.  And I decided, as a friend, that you should know, so it doesn’t distract you at an untimely moment.”

“Great.”

“And in return, as a friend, you might look the other way.  Or, you know, just stay very focused on your own work.”

This raised a complication Neal had never considered when he made his deal with the FBI.  Fortunately, he’d been careful to hold the phone in his right hand, since the watch was on his left wrist; they wouldn’t have heard Mozzie’s side of the conversation.  Neal had no idea how much he was obliged to tell the FBI about such things, and could only guess that his original assignment of talking to Collins took precedence over a simple burglary.  “I’ve got to go.  Thanks for warning me.”

When Neal returned to his seat, the soup bowls were being taken away and replaced with the next course.  Bethanne shook her head.  “There’s no saving you now.”

Before Neal could ask what she meant, he felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned around to face the two youngest girls.  Their pink frocks were so lacy and sweet they could give a person a toothache.  They had their mother’s dark hair and hazel eyes filled with determination.  “Show us,” said Lily, as Katy brushed away the hair from Neal’s forehead.

“I don’t see it,” Katy said.  Lily pouted.

Neal laughed.  Dark hair, those ridiculous round glasses he’d been given, the Harry Potter ring tone.  They were looking for a lightning bolt scar.  He palmed his napkin ring and made it appear to fall out of thin air, right in front of Lily’s face.  “They say that sometimes we can’t see what is right in front of our noses.”

The girls squealed until Bethanne grabbed each of them by an arm and pulled them back to their chairs.  “You’re nice,” she told Neal.  “But you’re an idiot.”


	4. Party Favors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, in case it sets off your buttons: in this chapter, Neal will remember an experience of drowning.

**Sinclair estate, Connecticut.  December 31, 2003 – Wednesday evening.**

After the meal, guests scattered in several directions.  Some went back to the bar for drinks.  Some settled around a roaring fire to talk.  Some went to another room with a dance floor and a string quartet. 

The watch’s feed had been silent for a couple of minutes now.  Peter didn’t like it.  He was considering texting Neal when they heard his voice, whispering, “Collins is going upstairs.  I’ll follow.”

Peter reminded himself that Neal knew what he was doing.  He’d pulled off intricate cons and thefts.  You didn’t break into a museum and steal a major artwork without careful planning.  Peter would bet that Neal thought of this assignment as something similar; all that time he’d been quiet in the backseat of the car, he’d been preparing for this.  He’d been ready, and he had Gardiner in the house and a full support team here. 

Intellectually, he knew Neal was as well-prepared as possible, and should excel tonight.  That didn’t make Peter feel any less like a parent sending a child off for his first day of school. 

“Where is it?” came Collins’ voice over the feed.

“I’m not telling,” said Bethanne.

“This is ridiculous.  Don’t you want to get better?”

“What difference does it make?  Everyone says I’m dying.  I’ve Googled lung transplants, and it sounds awful.  Now you want to take away the one thing that makes me happy.  Marie said it’s okay, so just leave me alone!”

“I’ve shown you the test results, Bethanne.  I ran them twice, yesterday and again today.  You aren’t dying.  And Marie is not your friend.”

“I’m dying.  Everyone says so.  The clinic says so, and they had all kinds of equipment and tests that you don’t.  That’s why daddy doesn’t go to work anymore, and why I got pulled out of school, and why you’re here.  If I’m fine, why don’t you go home?”

“God, this family!  No one believes basic scientific evidence.  I should have stayed in the lab.”

There was the sound of footsteps.  It sounded like Collins was going back downstairs.

“I want to check out something on the third floor,” said Neal, much to Peter’s chagrin.  The Gardiners’ overview of the first two floors didn’t mention a home office.  It was probably on the top floor, and was probably Neal’s destination.  That was not part of the plan.  At least, not the FBI’s plan.

“Amateur,” said Neal softly.  “Didn’t bypass the alarm.  I’ve got to disable it, or he’s going to set it off and bring the cops running.  Sinclair will hide Collins and I’ll never get to talk to him.” There was a pause. “Piece of cake.”

“What the hell is going on?” asked Rice.

“I think they have a burglar,” Peter said.

“Yeah, your consultant.”

“No, he’s tracking someone else.”

Neal’s voice whispered, “I’ve never seen someone take so long trying to crack that model of safe.”  And louder he said, “You know, you really don’t want to be here tonight.  The FBI is outside, and you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“Neal!”

“Kate?”

Guillaume looked confused.  “The little girl?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.  “No, not Katy.  Unfortunately it sounds like Neal’s girlfriend crashed the party, too.  Jones, I want you to head toward the house, and see if you can identify where she made her entry.  Call me when you get to the edge of the property, and I’ll let you know if you need to back up Caffrey.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Did you really switch sides, Neal?” Kate asked.

Neal couldn’t believe his eyes.  He’d never expected Kate to be the person Mozzie hired for this job.  It had been months since Kate stormed out of his life.  She hadn’t returned his calls, and he hadn’t been able to find her.  Mozz had known how to contact her all this time, and hadn’t shared that piece of information? 

Mozz had hired Kate for this job?  Art, yes.  Cons, yes.  Solo burglaries where there were alarm systems and safe cracking involved, no.  Those weren’t her strengths, and Mozzie knew it.  It’s like he wanted her to get caught. 

Or wanted Neal to catch her, and then to compromise his deal with the FBI to save her.

“I got a once-in-a-lifetime offer,” he told her, shocked out of his Charles mindset and losing the accent.  “Besides, I needed a change.  It was only a matter of time before I went to prison.  I couldn’t find you if I’d been stuck behind bars.”

“I’d have visited you.”

“Well, if I’d known that…” Neal grinned.  “Look, I’ve got immunity now.  You could do the same thing.  We both get off to a fresh start and make a real life for ourselves.  No more running and hiding and aliases.  We can have a home and just be ourselves, like when we met.”

“You were using an alias when we met.”

“This will be even better.  No more lies.”

“It’s all a lie, Neal.  Did you really think we could settle down in a nine-to-five routine like normal people?”

He remembered how much he had struggled with his first two weeks at the FBI, but said, “We were doing it before.  We could have stayed that way if Adler hadn’t disappeared.”

“There’s nothing sadder than a con man conning himself.  At least I know who I am.  We barely had a dime then.  You think I’m going back to that?”

Neal frowned.  They hadn’t been rich, but Adler had paid them both a decent salary.  They’d lived well.  He’d been happy.  Kate had been happy; he had to believe that.  Sure, it had been a long con, but it had felt so real.  There had to be a middle ground.  Maybe it wouldn’t be a “normal” life, because who wanted to be average?  But couldn’t people have an extraordinary life that wasn’t illegal and dangerous?  Byron and June Ellington had found it.  What he was doing tonight had the rush of a con while still being legal, and he wasn’t stuck behind a desk anymore.  “It’s not about money.  It’s about people.”

“Tonight it’s about the money I’m going to get from stealing a book, and I’m not leaving without it.”

“You’re not going to find a book in this safe.  Something this size is for a small bundle of cash and a couple of documents.  His book collection isn’t even in this room.”

“My source said what he wants is in this safe.”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure your _source_ wants you to get caught.  You need to rethink your options.  If you aren’t going to turn yourself in, then get out of here while you can.  Because I promise you, the FBI is closing in.”

Kate walked back to the safe, to try opening it again.  Neal had forgotten how exasperatingly stubborn she could be.  He wanted to spend more time reasoning with her, but had to get back to the party before someone noticed he was missing and came looking for him.  Pushing her aside, he cracked the safe himself.  Then he took a moment to look at the contents.  Some cash, a diamond necklace, and a few pages of notes on L&B letterhead.  If Sinclair had incriminating information about his business dealings, this was probably it.

Kate swept all of it into a pack she swung over her back.  “This will have to do.”

Neal waited till she was almost out of the room.  “Think about it, Kate.  I felt the FBI on my heels, and I was a lot better at this than you are.  You’d better have a plan for what you’re going to do when you get caught, because it’s going to happen.”

“Not tonight,” she said, and slipped away.

Neal wiped his prints off of the safe, and then spoke directly into the watch.  “She’ll go over the fence on the east side.  It’s darkest there, and the neighbors are out of town.  She cleaned out the safe, and you really want what’s in her backpack.  If she gives it up, please, please let her go.  Just question her enough to make her see she’s in over her head, and let her go.”

For a moment he closed his eyes and simply stood there, letting emotions pour through him: elation at seeing Kate, frustration that they were on opposite sides, guilt that he’d been the one to put them on opposite sides, shock that she didn’t think he could be reformed, fear that she’d be caught, fear that she wouldn’t be caught. Anger…  He didn’t even know where to direct the anger.  At Mozzie for recruiting Kate to do a job beyond her skills.  At Kate for being stupid and greedy enough to accept a job beyond her skills.  At himself for not convincing her to give up the job as a lost cause.  At Peter for being Peter, the black-and-white upholder of the law who would arrest Kate and hold her fate in his hands without mercy. 

No, it wasn’t fair to say Peter didn’t have mercy.  Peter had gone out of his way to give Neal an opportunity to start over.  He said he’d seen something special in Neal.  Now Neal had to trust Peter to see that Kate was special, too. 

He slowly unclenched his fists and channeled Charles again.  He wouldn’t know what happened to Kate until he finished this job and got out of here.  It was time to get back to work.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had barely returned to the main floor when Marie grabbed him and pulled him back toward the stairs, saying, “Charles, you’re just the person I want.  I need a favor.  The girls like you, and I think you’re tall enough to reach…”  At the top of the stairs she turned left toward the daughters’ bedrooms.  “They won’t let me have a moment of peace until this is settled, and I can’t abandon my guests.  Here we are.”  She opened the door to a massive room decorated in pastel pink.  “This is Lily’s room.  Girls!  I’ve brought you Charles.  Quiet down and let him help you.  Mama has to take care of her guests.”  With that Marie abandoned Neal to pandemonium.

Lily jumped on her bed, yelling, “Mine!  Mine!  Mine!”  Bethanne sat on the floor beside the bed, sobbing.  Katy crawled out from under the bed, and as soon as she saw she had an audience, she held up her hand and screamed.

The red marks on the back of her hand looked like a cat scratch.  “We should wash that.”  Neal led Katy to the adjoining bathroom, lifted her onto the counter and ran her hand under water.  “Keep it there,” he said, and rummaged for something to clean the scratches.  “What happened?” he asked. 

“Doctor Collins doesn’t like Charlotte.  He wants her to go away.  Bethanne hid her in Lily’s room.  Now she won’t leave, and Lily’s going to keep her.”

Neal worked quickly to clean the scratches while Katy was distracted talking.  “Do you think that’s what Charlotte wants?”

“I don’t care what Charlotte wants.  She’s mean.”

Neal lifted Katy again, and set her on the floor.  Then he grabbed a large, pink bath towel.  “You’ve been very brave.  Take me to this Charlotte.  I’m going to fight the monster under the bed.”

“Do you need a wand?”

“No.  When you’re older, you can read _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ and you’ll see that towels have special powers, too.”

Lily’s bed was pushed against the corner of the room, leaving as much space as possible open for a play area.  Charlotte was literally cornered.  She’d backed herself into the corner under the bed.  She didn’t have an escape, and hissed and scratched at all comers.  It was obvious she didn’t want to be there, but didn’t want to go out and face the girls, either.  Neal could certainly understand.  As he slid under the bed the din faded a bit.  “No cat burglar jokes,” he muttered at his watch.  “I don’t want to hear it.”  Then he wrapped the towel around the yowling animal and dragged her out from under the bed.  “Where does she belong?” he asked Bethanne.

She finally wiped the tears from her face and sniffled one last time.  “This way.”  She stood up and led Neal to her suite, where he’d heard her arguing with the doctor.  The first room was set up as her own living area, with a sofa, entertainment center and computer desk, all in a French provincial style. 

Neal leaned on the desk and loosened the towel around the cat.  She was medium sized, sleek and pitch black.  “Hello, Charlotte.  Why’s the prettiest girl at the party hiding up here?”

Charlotte leapt to the floor, walked around to ensure everything was in order, and then jumped on the desk to inspect Neal.  She deigned to let him scratch her ears for a moment, and then curled up to rest after her ordeal.

“Thanks,” said Bethanne.  “I’m sorry for acting like such a… an idiot.”

“Have you had her long?”

“A little over two years.  She was a birthday present from Marie.  The best present I ever got.  I love her more than anything.”

“Love.”  Neal shrugged in a particularly French mannerism.  “It makes fools of us all.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jones dropped the backpack on the Gardiners’ dining room table.  “She handed it over, but when I crouched down to pick it up, she pulled out a gun and fired.”

“You’re not hurt?” Peter asked.

“Nah.  I don’t think she was trying to hit me, just make me duck for cover long enough that she could make a run for it.  She had a car waiting, couple of yards away.  If it had been a longer run, I’d have caught up to her.”

Peter knew Neal would be relieved, but he hoped they caught Kate soon. 

“Got some good news, though,” said Jones.  “Before she spotted me, I saw her put away her gloves and drink from a bottle of water.  When it was empty, she dropped it on the ground.  I went back for it, and it has a nice, smooth surface.  Should get a clear set of prints.”

“They say if you litter, you’ll regret it.”  Peter pulled on latex gloves.  “Well, let’s see what Neal thought was so important about this pack.”  The cash he placed on the table to be counted.  The necklace was distinctive, the kind of thing a homeowner would have a picture of for insurance.  That would add to the evidence against Kate in the burglarly.  Then he unfolded the documents and glanced over the first page.  “Damn.  Get Wiese in here.  She needs to see this.”

Wiese skimmed through the documents.  “With everything else I have, this is enough to get a warrant.”

“Get it started,” said Peter.  “Maybe we can pull Neal out early.  There have been too many surprises tonight.  I have a bad feeling about this.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Downstairs once again, Neal prowled the party looking for Collins.  Unfortunately the doctor had joined the group lounging by the fireplace.  He had settled in with a drink in the middle of the group and didn’t look likely to move away anytime soon. 

The simplest solution would be to say Bethanne needed Collins. Then Neal could walk upstairs with Collins, and talk to him alone, as long as Marie didn’t…  And as he thought her name, she appeared.  If Neal said Bethanne wasn’t well, Marie would insist on going along.

Neal turned his attention to the bar.  What if he spilled a glass of red wine on the doctor’s suit?  Apologize profusely, offer to help clean it.  A bit clichéd, but the whole asthma thing made Neal uneasy.  He could do it, he knew. He had vivid memories of drowning as a teenager to draw on, to convince people he couldn’t breathe.  But who in their right mind would want to do that?

He took a step toward the bar and bumped into something.  He looked down to see Charlotte.  She glanced up at him reproachfully, and then continued on her way.

A black cat had crossed his path.  And a black-haired cat burglar had crossed his path.  And the alias William Darcy was bad luck.  Really, it was getting ridiculous.  It was time to get this over with.

He stayed in the middle of the room, where he’d get an audience from the bar and the fireplace. 

And he remembered.  _The windows were rolled down and water poured into the car.  Landing in the lake knocked the air out of him.  The shock of the cold water made him gasp.  In an instant it had filled the car and he was sinking.  The water was so heavy.  It kept pressing on him._

“Your name is Charles, isn’t it?  Are you all right?”

_He tried to unbuckle the seat belt, but his hands were too clumsy, the water so heavy it seemed he couldn’t move his arms.  He realized he was going to die and he gasped._

“Maybe you should sit down.”

_He couldn’t breathe.  Shouldn’t breathe.  But his lungs were aching, and he couldn’t stop them, and he gasped._

“He came with the Gardiners.  Can someone find them?”

He reached into his pocket for the inhaler.  His hands trembled, and he dropped it on the ground.  That’s what he wanted.  People saw it fall, they reached for it, and they reached conclusions. 

A crowd of people were speaking at once.  “That’s an inhaler.”  “Asthma.” “The poor boy can’t breathe.”  “ _Est-ce qu’il y a un médecin_ _ici_?”  “Where is Dr. Collins?”  “Should he lie down, do you think?”  “Would a glass of water help?”  “Yes, I’m a doctor.  You said he had an inhaler?”

Neal felt the inhaler pressed against his face.  He reached for it, blindly, but he didn’t have to.  The doctor already had it in position.  Neal heard and felt the mist.  He relaxed a little.  Time to start the recovery phase of this acting job.

Then the mist hit his throat, and the swelling started.  He gasped.  It had been bad, simply reliving drowning.  This was worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not an expert on asthma or drowning. My description here is meant to be dramatic rather than medically accurate.


	5. Party Games

**Gardiner home, Connecticut.  December 31, 2003 – Wednesday night.**

Peter had to give Neal credit for his ability to con a crowd.  The fake asthma attack worked like a charm.    Not only did it bring forward Dr. Collins to help with the inhaler, it also had the doctor telling everyone else to back off, to let the patient get some air.  The agent who’d trained Neal on asthma gave a thumbs up. 

Concern crept in when Neal didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to talk to Collins.  After the inhaler was used, Neal continued acting like he couldn’t breathe, even though the fake attack had fulfilled its purpose.  He shouldn’t keep up the act anymore.  That was a rookie mistake.

Neal was the furthest thing from a rookie con artist.

“He’s with us,” they heard Peggy Gardiner’s voice over the feed.  “What’s going on?”

“Adverse reaction to the medication in his inhaler,” said Collins.  “Swelling of the airway.”

“Oh.  I thought he might be disappointed in the party and be looking for an excuse to leave.”

“Believe me, ma’am.  No one could fake this.”  A pause.  “Can I get a couple of people to help me move him to the library?  Yes, through that door.”

Peter was incensed.  “It was supposed to be water in that inhaler, Rice.”

“It was.  Mostly.  We weren’t sure if he could fool a doctor into believing he was really in respiratory distress.  We added something to make sure.  What are you complaining about?  It worked.”

“Did Neal know?”

“We thought the element of surprise would be more convincing.  What’s the big deal, here?  You made that same argument when you decided to ‘arrest’ him a few weeks ago.”

“I was wrong, and so are you.  You can’t do that to one of my agents.” 

“He isn’t an agent, Burke.  No matter how many pretty speeches you make about how everyone in the White Collar division is an equal member of the team, he’s not an agent and he never will be. He’s a tool in your belt.  You, of all people, should understand.”

“Understand what?”

“A few months ago, you went on and on about this puppy you were adopting.  Perfect pedigree, purebred.  Papers from the breeder.  That’s what agents have.  Papers from Quantico.  What you have in that party is a mutt.  A rescue dog.  You took pity on him, and brought him in, but he isn’t going to fit.  You better watch it, Burke.  He’s going to bite you and your team, and eventually you’ll have to kick him out if he doesn’t run away first.  Be smart and get as much use out of him as you can before that happens.”

Peter was so angry he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Wiese didn’t have that problem.  “I always like it when you use a dog analogy.  Because you’re such a bitch.”

“Uh, Agent Burke?” said Jones.  “We’ve got Collins and Marie Sinclair on the feed from Caffrey’s watch.  You wanna hear this.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

For a little while, Neal’s world narrowed to breathing.  Getting air was all that mattered.

He was vaguely aware of being moved to another room, and lying down on a sofa.  Someone used a cushion to adjust the angle of his throat for maximum air flow, and that was wonderful.  He became aware of how tense he was, and tried to relax his body.  It was a slow process.

He opened his eyes long enough to recognize the library.  The room was dim, and blessedly quiet.  People weren’t crowding him and taking all of the air.  Instead of air that tasted like wine and party foods on the breath of too many people, this air held the scent of old books and leather furniture.   

“You said it was a reaction to his inhaler?” asked Peggy.

“It appears to be an allergic reaction to the active ingredient, or possibly the medication was tainted.  Either way, he shouldn’t use it again,” said Collins.

Neal put two and two together, and it added up to Rice putting something in the inhaler that ensured he gave the performance of a lifetime. 

Had Peter known?

No, Peter had too much respect for his people to pull a stunt like that.  He would have warned Neal if he’d known.  Neal wished he could hear what Peter was saying to Agent Rice right now.  He’d have to ask Jones to give him the highlights.

Neal heard Charlotte jump onto the sofa next to him.  She meowed softly before she stepped up to balance on his chest and touch his nose with hers.  Her weight forced him to exhale deeply, something he’d been dreading because it meant letting the precious air go.  But it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.

“I feel like we should take him home,” said Peggy.  “But I’m afraid to move him.”

“Give him about fifteen minutes,” Collins said.  “If he doesn’t have a relapse by then, it should be safe to drive him home.  Getting a good night’s sleep will be the best thing for him.  That total relaxation is what his body needs.”

Charlotte curled up on Neal’s chest.  He reached up to pet her, and she purred.  The vibrations of the purring and the warmth of her body helped loosen the too-tight muscles in his chest.  Cat therapy.  Who knew?

“Thank you, doctor,” said Peggy.  “I’m going to let my husband know Charles is doing better.  I’ll check back in fifteen minutes.”

Neal heard her close the door behind her.  “Now, Mrs. Sinclair,” said Collins, “certainly you can see by comparison that Bethanne is not sick.  I’ll tell you what every single doctor has told you for the last two years.  Your stepdaughter is allergic to that damn cat you gave her.  If you would get rid of the animal, or at least banish it from her bedroom, her health would improve demonstrably.”

“The clinic confirmed she has Redding-Kotz.”

“I checked into that when my own tests came back negative.  You offered a sizable donation to the clinic while you were there.  You paid for the diagnosis you wanted.  I can only imagine why you wanted to pressure your husband into getting experimental treatments for a perfectly healthy child.”

“You were eager enough to give her experimental treatments a few days ago,” Marie countered.  “You ordered all of the drugs and equipment.”

“The situation has changed since then.”

“I can pay you.  Benny was going to leave her half of everything.  It wasn’t fair.  My Katy and Lily and I would have to share the rest.  If Bethanne loses her brave fight with Redding-Kotz, I’ll get twice as much.”

“Twice as much of nothing.  Mrs. Sinclair, your husband already offered to pay me.  Then yesterday he explained that he’s out of money, and couldn’t pay me until a year from now, contingent on Bethanne’s survival.  He doesn’t even own this house.  You’d better hope your beloved Benny lives a long, healthy life, because the minute he dies, L&B will sell this place to the highest bidder and kick you out.”

Neal gradually sat up.  Charlotte jumped off in a huff at being displaced.  Then she minced away with an air that indicated anyone had better believe _she_ had been the one to decide it was time to end her nap.

“You’re lying!” said Marie.  “Benny told me we’re doing fine.  He buys me anything I want.”

Neal’s throat was on fire, but he went ahead and said, “Actually…”  He cleared his throat painfully and said again, “Actually, Collins is right.  Benny’s in serious debt.  You aren’t the only one with an open secret in this neighborhood, Marie.  You and your husband should stop playing games and really talk to each other.”

“You don’t tell me what to do!” Marie exclaimed, and flounced out of the room.  Not many people could pull off a flounce, but Neal had to admit that she nailed it.

“Your note said you’re doing this for your son?”  Neal was aware he sounded so hoarse that his voice was barely recognizable.  He didn’t bother with the accent.  He noticed a glass of water waiting for him on the side table and savored it; no gulping the water down and risking choking after everything his throat had been through.

“You’re here because of the note?  I was careful not to say anything incriminating in it, and I want to make it clear, I can’t be blamed.”  Collins sat on a chair opposite the sofa.  “You have to understand, my son is barely older than Katy.  He spent Thanksgiving with me, and I tried to explain the difference between a doctor who treats patients, and one who works in research.  He asked how many people I had cured.  It crushed him when I said none.  All of my work is still theoretical.  It will be in testing and trials for years, even decades.  Eventually my work may help millions. Or it may never see the light of day.  I thought, if I could double this girl’s life expectancy, I could go back to my son and say that I had already helped at least one person.”  He sighed.  “Then I realized she isn’t dying at all.  If I treated her, I’d shorten her life expectancy.  And on top of all of that, Sinclair was only willing to pay me if she lived.”

“Let me get this straight.  You were here for glory in the eyes of your son, and for money from the Sinclairs.  And for that, you were willing to experiment on a child.”

“I realize that, in the eyes of LCD Pharmaceuticals and the law, I was considering something in breach of corporate policy, and possibly illegal.  But the important thing is, I didn’t go through with it.  I didn’t actually break any laws.”

“You were willing to take that risk, for enough money.”

“My motives are irrelevant, in the eyes of the law.  I’m not a criminal, and you can’t arrest me.”

“I’m not here to arrest you, Collins.  _I’m_ not the one you’re in danger from.”  Neal was grateful for Collins’ help after the inhaler mishap, but he also kind of hated the guy.  And he wasn’t a fan of Marie, either.  They had the same casual disregard for life in favor of money that was turning Matthew Keller into a monster.  “Marie sounds a little unhinged.  Aren’t you worried about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think will happen when you try to leave, if she wants you to stay?”

“You raise a good point.  She’s already mentioned that she always keeps an eye on me.  And Benny’s not thinking straight about this, either.  She has him convinced that Bethanne is dying, and neither Benny nor Bethanne believed me when I said she’s fine.  Marie told Benny that I’m getting cold feet, and that he has to keep pressuring me to start the treatments.  Who knows what lengths he’ll go to, to keep his favorite daughter alive.”

Neal stood up, testing that he had regained strength and control over his body.  He ached, but could move.  “If I offered to help you get out of here, you’d accept?”

“The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’m trapped here.  It might be partially a prison of my own making, but I’m still trapped in it.  What would I have to do, for this offer of yours?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter couldn’t have been more proud.  Neal was getting Collins to say exactly what they needed to hear.

“This is a big win, people,” Rice called out.  “One more case closed for Missing Persons.  We extract Collins in the morning.”

“Neal did all the heavy lifting,” mumbled Wiese.

“I’d like to see Rice try to close this one without him,” Jones agreed.  “Do you think _she_ could disable an alarm to keep the cops from crashing the party and ruining our op?”

“The whole taming the monster under the bed is going to be epic when we brief the rest of the team on what happened,” Wiese said.  “Retired cat burglar, meet cat.”

“Yeah, and do you think we can change the name on his old case files from James Bonds to Harry Potter?  We need to get a picture of him wearing the glasses.  You get me a digital image, and I can add the scar.”

Peter smiled.  It was a win for White Collar, too.  The team was starting to rally around Neal.

And then Guillaume yelled, “ _La folle est de retou_ _r_ _!_ ”

Peter missed what Marie said when she entered the room, but he heard Neal’s response, “It’s the return of Mary Poppins’ evil twin.  If you liked the movie, you should definitely buy the book.”

“That’s a distress signal,” said Jones.  “Let’s move in.”

“Is it?” asked Wiese.  “I thought it was _by the book_.  You know, like _follow the rules_.  Not B-U-Y the book.”

“No one says _buy_ the book,” said Peter.  “They say _read_ the book.”

“Or _try_ the book,” Jones added.

“But yesterday, when I said my kids love the Harry Potter series, he agreed it was _buy_ , not read or try, remember?  If he thinks the panic phrase is B-Y and not B-U-Y, he might not realize he said it.  We could ruin everything if we show up and he’s not expecting us.”

“Did anyone put the panic phrase in writing?” Jones asked.

“No,” said Peter, already deciding that in the future it would always be given in writing before an op.  “And that means right now we don’t know if we’ll do more damage by showing up, or by not showing up.”


	6. Overindulging

**Sinclair estate, Connecticut.  December 31, 2003 – Wednesday night.**

It went against Neal’s instincts to say the panic phrase when he saw Marie holding a gun, but Peter had insisted.  Neal intentionally said it in a way that could cause confusion, hoping to buy more time before the FBI came crashing in.

Neal didn’t know what Marie wanted to accomplish by returning with a gun.  He didn’t think she knew, either.  Realistically, she couldn’t hold Collins at gunpoint all night, and couldn’t shoot him without dozens of people hearing.   

The obvious response, given his recent fake asthma attack, was to pretend the shock and fear of being held at gunpoint was making him hyperventilate.  He breathed heavily and staggered in her direction, placing his palms on a table near her as if to support himself.

“Stop that!” she insisted.

“He can’t, you silly woman,” Collins said.  “You’re making him relapse.”

“Then make him stop.  Do whatever you did before.”

With Marie focused on Collins, Neal slipped closer to her, and pulled away the gun.  She didn’t hold it in a very firm grip, making it almost as easy as lifting a wallet.  He stepped out of her reach before she even registered what had happened.  Neal, on the other hand, did have a firm grip, and a professional cop stance that Ellen had taught him years ago.  He pointed the gun at Marie and said, “Put your hands up, Marie.  It’s over.”

“What?  Ouch!” Marie winced as Collins stuck a needle in her arm. 

“Sedative,” Collins said.  “I’d prepared it in case of a relapse.”

Marie soon started swaying, and Collins pushed her toward a chair where she collapsed.  Meanwhile, Neal removed the cartridge from the gun, placed both pieces on the table, and then whispered into the watch, “I’d like to return that book.  I won’t be needing it.”

“Now what?” asked Collins when he had Marie settled.

“Peggy will be back any minute.  I want her take on this.  It might be as simple as strolling out of here, saying goodnight, and going home.”  Neal wanted to wash away the feel and smell of the gun on his hands, but needed to stay in the library.  He distracted himself by walking along the bookshelves.  “The great irony is that Benny isn’t as broke as he thinks.  All the books in those two cases at the end are rare, first editions.  Most of them in excellent condition.  There’s a _Paradise Lost_ by Milton that’s worth about twenty-five grand.  No one seems to realize what he has in here.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, I dabble.  I know a few rare book dealers.”

“From what you said earlier, I thought you were a cop, but you don’t sound like one.  What are you?”

“You know the saying, _set a thief to catch a thief_.  The FBI had suspicions about Sinclair and L &B, and sent in an expert to find the truth.”  He extended his hand and shook Collins’.  “I’m Neal Caffrey.”

“Neal Caffrey,” Collins repeated.  “You know, this whole evening has become a bit surreal.  Guns, thieves.  I suppose this is all normal for you?”

“All in a day’s work, yes.  The whole nine-to-five thing didn’t really work for me.  That’s why…”  Neal heard the door open.  “Peggy!  And Thomas, too.  Perfect.  We need your advice.”

“Charles, should you be standing?” Peggy asked.   

“You don’t have to call me Charles anymore.  Collins knows I’m really Neal Caffrey.  And I’m fine, now.”

Peggy looked doubtful.  “Humor me, and sit down while you fill us in.”

Neal did as directed, while wishing Peggy were less perceptive.  He’d rather have Peter and the team thinking he was fine, and in control.  Which he was.  But if they overheard something that gave them doubts, they might barge in and ruin everything he was trying to accomplish.  Plus, if the team decided they had to come to his rescue on his first assignment, they’d never let him forget it.

After Neal explained the situation, Collins and Peggy used velvet curtain ties to tie up Marie.  Neal sacrificed his royal blue silk pocket square to gag her.  They stashed her in an adjacent room, still groggy but likely to become alert soon.  They hid the gun behind a set of the rare books in Benny’s collection.

“It would be different if you or I were active agents,” Thomas told Neal.  “We could flash a badge and say Marie was under arrest and we could hold Benny for questioning.  But neither of us has that authority.  We need an exit strategy that doesn’t make Benny suspicious.  Otherwise he has a chance to destroy any evidence before the FBI arrives with a warrant.  His finding Marie tied and gagged would be a big red flag, but if we set her free she’ll tell him something’s up.”

“What if we say I’m still not feeling well, we leave early, and hope they don’t find Marie for a while?  I got a text from Peter that they may have a warrant soon.”

“Risky,” said Peggy.  “Leaving a New Year’s party before midnight will definitely be noticed.  And Marie makes a point of saying goodbye to each guest at her parties.  People will wonder why she isn’t here, and Benny will insist we stay until he finds her, because he knows she hates missing people on their way out.”

“And then we have to deal with the issue of Collins,” Neal said.  “We can’t leave you here.  When Marie is found, she’s going to claim you attacked her.  For all we know, Benny might decide to pick up where she left off, with a gun.  Even if Marie stays hidden, Benny will insist that Bethanne needs you to stay.  We need a clean way out that takes you with us, and doesn’t alert Benny to the fact that the Feds are onto him.”  He pulled the inhaler out of his pocket.  “There’s only one way I know to do that.  Peggy, what’s the 911 response time in this neighborhood?”

“About three minutes,” she said.

Neal sighed.  He dreaded this.  “At least I know what to expect this time.”

“Actually, the effect of that kind of drug reaction is cumulative,” said Collins.  “Each exposure is progressively worse.  Expect to take longer to recover.”

“Great.  I’m looking forward to round two.”

Peggy stood.  “There’s a landline in the living room, near the fireplace.  I’ll make the call from there.  That will alert the household of our urgent need to leave the party, and cause enough chaos they shouldn’t realize Marie is missing.  I’ll try to convince everyone you need space, but eventually they’ll want to see your condition for themselves, especially Benny.  Wait to use the inhaler until someone opens the library door.  That way the EMTs will arrive in time to help you through most of it.”  She left to make the call. 

Neal sent a text message, letting Henry know he was all right.  The hospital would call Henry as Neal’s emergency contact, and he didn’t want anyone to panic.

Thomas directed Collins to untie Marie.  “It will be too suspicious if someone finds her like that, and you know people will be looking for her as midnight nears.  Sedate her again.  And spill your drink on her, leaving the empty glass on the floor beside her.  Our best hope is that people will think she overindulged and passed out.  Then they’ll be less likely to believe any story she tells about what happened to her.”  While Collins followed orders, Thomas told Neal to lie down again on the sofa.  “Inhaler at the ready.”

“Yeah.”  Neal’s breath sped up at the thought of what he was about to do. 

“Try to be calm, Neal,” Thomas said.  “I can’t see you, but I can sense the panic.  Think about something else.  How long have you worked for the FBI?”

“Two weeks.”

“And you’re already in the field doing undercover work?”

“It’s my first field assignment.”

“That’s…”  Thomas laughed.  “I’m sorry.  I know it isn’t funny for you.  But I’ve been where they are, the team monitoring you, I mean.  We practically chewed our nails off when someone went undercover the first time.  With everything that happened tonight, I have to wonder if they’ve chewed their fingers off.  They’ll want to assign you to desk work for a month while they recover.”

“That’s not fair,” Neal protested.  “I did everything they wanted.  And then some.”

“The FBI doesn’t always appreciate _and then some_ , I’m sorry to say.  And I suspect that you did what they wanted, but in your own way, rather than theirs.”

“I don’t even know what their way is, yet.”

“There’s the challenge.  The old guard is too accustomed to how things are done to realize that it needs to be explained to anyone.  The new guys learn by breaking expectations.  Then they’re told what they did wrong.  Or, rarely, the old guard adjusts their thinking about how things should work.” 

“You’re exaggerating about a month of desk duty, right?  Please tell me Peter wouldn’t do that to me.”

Thomas stood, and using his cane found his way to the sofa.  He perched next to Neal’s feet.  “I need to look as if I’m fretting over your latest attack.  As soon as you use the inhaler, reach out for my hand.  It will lend me a Florence Nightingale air.”  He leaned forward slightly and placed a hand on the back of the sofa, where it would be easy to grab.  It was a concerned pose.  It reminded Neal again of how much undercover work had in common with a con.  “As for what Peter will do, I can’t say.  He was very new to the Bureau when I retired.  I didn’t get a sense of what kind of leader he would become.”

“Can you tell me what Peter was like as a new agent?  Preferably something I could use to remind him of what it’s like to be new when he goes into lecture mode.”

“Blackmail material, you mean?”  Thomas thought for a moment.  “I remember hearing about the first time Peter went undercover.  The senior agents gave him a panic phrase.  That’s all they told him, ‘Here’s your panic phrase.’  Well, in the middle of the assignment…  I think he was making contact with members of a money laundering scheme… Whatever it was, rivals showed up, heavily armed.  We hadn’t been aware of a turf war that was brewing.  Both sides start shooting at each other.  Peter dove for cover, and got out safely on this own.  In the debriefing he asked why no backup arrived.  After all, he had mentioned the guns, and the sound of gunfire was rather obvious.  The team told him, ‘You didn’t say the panic phrase.’  And Peter said, ‘Of course not, I didn’t panic.  But I would have liked some help.’”

Neal chuckled.  “That’s –”

“Footsteps,” Thomas interrupted.  “It’s time.”

Neal used the inhaler right before the library doors opened.  As Collins had warned, it was even worse than before.  All he could keep track of was squeezing someone’s hand.  At some point it changed from Thomas to Collins, and per the plan he refused to let go, and Collins got into the ambulance with him.  But it was hard to keep track of anything around him because the whole world had run out of air.  And his lungs did not work, at all.  It was like they were frozen.  No, it was like they were set in concrete.  Frozen lungs could thaw, but it didn’t feel like he would ever draw another breath no matter what the temperature.

The EMTs were detached strangers.  Collins was only along for the ride, and wasn’t someone Neal trusted.  It made the ambulance a lonely place.  For the first time all night, he wanted Peter to come to the rescue.  If he could have spoken, he would have said the panic phrase.


	7. Hospital Game

**Hospital, New Haven.  January 1, 2004 – Thursday morning, barely.**

Peter paced the waiting room floor.  He’d followed the ambulance here.  Jones was now using Peter’s car to drop Agent Tricia Wiese and an arrest warrant at the Sinclair residence.  Agent Rice and her team were escorting Collins back to his home in New York. 

He kept reliving those last few minutes of the op, when he realized what Neal was about to do, and couldn’t stop him.  Like Gardiner, he hadn’t been able to think of a better exit strategy.  But they had been so close to getting a warrant.  Hearing the inhaler, hearing Neal struggle to breathe, hearing the sirens and the EMTs loading Neal into the ambulance, and not being able to _do_ anything…  It had been hell.

Peter’s phone rang, and just seeing the caller’s name relaxed him a bit.  “Hey, hon.”

“Happy New Year, Peter.  How are things going?”

“It’s 2004 already?  I haven’t been watching the clock.  Happy New Year, El.  The good news is, our missing person is on his way home, and one of my agents is currently arresting a white collar criminal.”

“Congratulations.  And the bad news?”

“I’ve been the White Collar taskforce leader for two weeks, and already a member of my team has been hospitalized.”

“Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry.  How serious is it?”

“I don’t know yet.  The doctor is still checking him out.  He should be fine.  It’s just…  it’s nerve-wracking.”

“Is it Neal?”

Peter sighed.  “Yes.  Yes, of course it’s Neal.  He’s reckless, impetuous, foolhardy, impulsive…  did I say reckless?”

“But how did he do on his first real case?”

“You should have heard him, El.  He was brilliant. At the end, strategizing an exit plan with an FBI legend, cool as could be.  And the team’s coming around, starting to support him.  And there was this cat…”   Peter paused.  He didn’t normally share many details of his cases with Elizabeth.  Partly for security, but also because they were often boring to a non-agent.  It was hard to convey the thrill of the capture if you hadn’t experienced it.  And the rest of the work simply didn’t lend itself to good stories.  At least, it hadn’t before Neal joined the team.  “I’ll tell you about it when I get home.”

“I look forward to it.  You know, I’d like to meet Neal sometime.  All of your team, really.  It would be good to put faces to names.  We should host a party.”

“Oh, I don’t know, El.  There’s so much going on, and Neal will just be getting out the hospital.”

“Not tomorrow.  What I’m thinking about would take a few weeks to plan.  But what do you think about having everyone over to the boss’ home for a little socializing one evening?”

“Um…”

“And I love you, anyway.  We’ll talk about it when you get home.”

A cup of coffee and ten minutes of pacing later, Peter heard what Jones and Wiese had identified earlier as the Harry Potter theme.  Neal’s phone.  His phone and wallet had been given to Peter for safekeeping when they got to the emergency room.

Peter grabbed the phone, intending to silence it rather than answer.  Unless it was Kate Moreau.  Or Mozzie; Peter had spoken with him once and couldn’t help being fascinated by the man’s circuitous thought processes.

The caller was identified as Henry Winslow.  Peter pressed the answer button without even thinking about it.  “Hello?”

“This is Henry.  I got a text from Neal, and a voicemail from a hospital in Connecticut.  Is he okay?” 

It had crossed Peter’s mind that Henry Winslow could be an alias for Mozzie, but this was an entirely different, younger voice.  If the driver’s license that Neal had used in St. Louis was accurate, the man whose identity he sometimes “borrowed” was twenty-seven.  “Still waiting to hear from the emergency department staff, but they thought he would be all right.”  Curious about where this Winslow lived, Peter added.  “I can call you when they move him to a room, if you want to stop by.  Are you far?”

“Fishing for information.  I’m guessing you’re FBI.  Either Peter Burke or Clinton Jones.”  There was background noise, voices and music.  Winslow was probably at a party.

“Special Agent Peter Burke.” 

“What happened to Neal that landed him in a hospital?”

“I can’t share information about an active FBI investigation, but I can categorize what happened as a reckless stunt.”

“Let me guess.  He was trying to help someone?  He gets into the most trouble when he’s being the least selfish.”

“That about sums it up,” Peter confirmed.

“Please tell me he succeeded.  Neal can go into guilt overdrive about these things.”

“I think he accomplished what he wanted.  Sounds like you know him well.”

The party sounds receded.  Winslow had moved to another room.  “I’m his oldest friend.  He’s like a little brother to me, and I try to look out for him.  Your job involves looking out for your team, and to do that you need to know a few things about Neal.”

“Like the guilt overdrive?  I can’t say I agree with you on that one.  I sat through his confession for immunity, and didn’t see any signs of remorse.”

“Then all he talked about were things.  He doesn’t care about things.  Oh, he may appreciate a work of art, but forging or stealing it is purely an intellectual pursuit.  You’ll understand that as you get to know him better.  But what you need to know tonight is that he spent a while in a hospital as a kid, and he invented what he calls the Hospital Game.  Every time he’s been in a hospital since, he’s refined it.  He’s very, very good at it.  It’s one of those games that sounds terrifyingly dangerous to an adult with all his faculties.  But if you’re a kid, or if you’re an impaired adult, it can be very tempting.  God knows I’ve played it a few times, when I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“How does it work?” Peter asked.

“Imagine hide-and-seek.  Then…  Do you play chess, Peter?”

“I don’t get much time to anymore, but I did in college.”

“And have you heard of three-dimensional chess?”

“Made popular by the _Star Trek_ series.  It was supposed to add another level of complexity to the game.”

“Suppose you did that to hide-and-seek,” said Winslow.  “You kept adding levels of complexity.  And you play it with someone very intelligent, and who’s had a lot of practice.  You know about Neal’s family utilizing the services of the U.S. Marshals.  Imagine that someone who couldn’t tell Neal about the danger, but wanted to protect him, taught him hide-and-seek as a competitive sport, in case the family was ever discovered and needed to escape.”

“I can imagine that.”  It sounded like something Ellen would have done, and a former cop would have been a great teacher for that kind of game.  It explained a lot about Neal’s skills escaping capture as a thief.  It also gave Peter a sense of foreboding about this game.  And he was curious how Winslow knew Neal had been in WITSEC.  Neal claimed he hadn’t told anyone.

“In the Hospital Game, when a patient is bored or annoyed with the poking and prodding, and he’s well enough to walk, he slips out of his room and hides.  He’ll move onto multiple locations as needed to avoid discovery.  He’ll disguise himself, or con hospital personnel into believing he was moved to another section of the building.  The only limitation in the game is that he can’t leave the hospital.  When he stops feeling well enough to play, he’s supposed to go back to his room.  But the flaw is, by the time he realizes he’s not well enough to play, he’s probably not well enough to get back, and if he’s in a great hiding place, he could be in really bad shape by the time he’s found.”

Peter wasn’t particularly religious, but couldn’t help saying, “It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

“I’ve learned that if a hospital recommends keeping him for observation, it is much more conducive to everyone’s sanity to check him out and take him home.”

“Thanks for the warning.”  Peter looked for the signs pointing to the cubicles where emergency patients were treated.  He wanted eyes on Neal.  He also had more questions for Winslow.

But Winslow was already saying, “I have another warning for you.  After this one, I don’t think you’re going to be as grateful.”

“What is it?”

“Like I said, I try to look out for Neal.  One way I do that is to check out everyone who comes into his life.  He speaks highly of you, but he can be sentimental sometimes and that can affect his judgment.  I can tell he wants to think that you’re good, that you’re his friend.  But I don’t care whether you’re good or bad.  I’ll be monitoring you, and I’ll warn Neal if I find you’re not as good a friend as he thinks.”

“What do you mean, _monitoring_ me?”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about if you’ve been honest about being one of the good guys.”

“What is it with Neal’s friends and questioning whether I’m a good guy?  First Mozzie, now you.  I did Neal a huge favor setting up this deal with the FBI.  I’m helping him turn his life around.  I don’t stand to gain anything from it.  I’ve been acting as a friend.”

“Nothing to gain?  With Neal’s skills, the FBI has a lot to gain.  And so does he, if this deal works out.  But I don’t believe it’s in the character of the FBI to accept him in the long term.  You’ll keep treating him like a criminal, even if he does everything you ask.  Think of it like the transition from child to adult.  At the age of eighteen, a person is no longer a minor, and you expect him to act like an adult.  But if you keep treating him like a child, even calling him a child, you’re causing confusion.  What you expect conflicts with what you do and say.  You made this immunity deal that supposedly marked the end of his criminal career, but how many times since then have you thought of him as a criminal?  How many times have members of the FBI called him a criminal?”

“Do you wish we hadn’t offered him the deal, and kept tracking him down until we sent him to prison?”

“No, you’ll ruin everything if Neal goes to prison.”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked.

“Let’s stick to the point.  You made him a consultant.  You have a responsibility to treat him like a consultant.  If you treat him like a criminal, essentially brainwash him into thinking that’s all he’ll ever be, then don’t be surprised if he acts like a criminal.  Not just a criminal like he was before – out to take something because it’s there and he enjoys the challenge – but one with a grudge because he feels betrayed by his so-called-friends in the FBI.  He’ll go on a crime spree like you’ve never seen.  And then you’ll have to arrest him.  You’ll have to arrest someone you claim to consider a friend, and you’ll do it knowing it’s all your fault.”

“You’re taking some big leaps here.  Our role is to stop crimes, not cause them.  If I see anyone pushing Neal back toward a life of crime, I’ll step in,” Peter said.  “On the other hand, it isn’t easy to take someone we’ve been chasing for a year and simply forget he was a criminal.  We’ll treat him fairly.  We’ll treat him as he deserves, based on how he acts going forward.”

“I’ll accept you have good intentions, but I’m not going to blindly trust you to follow through, especially when things get challenging.  Just remember, I’m going to be watching, and I will do everything I can to get Neal away from the Bureau if that’s what he needs.  You make sure he has no regrets about taking the deal, and you’ll never have to worry about me.”

“Listen, Winslow, I get that you feel like Neal’s big brother, but you need to remember who really is Big Brother in this picture.  If you make threats against the U.S. Government, I’m going to have Homeland Security on your tail in a heartbeat.”

“You’re not the only one with resources, Agent Burke.”  Henry ended the call before Peter could respond.

To hell with Neal’s assurances.  Henry Winslow was dangerous, and Peter was going to find out everything he could about him.  But first, he needed to make sure Neal wasn’t playing the Hospital Game.


	8. Sedated

**Hospital, New Haven.  January 1, 2004 – Thursday morning, barely.**

Neal had paid close attention to the layout of the emergency ward, but it was too soon to play the Hospital Game.  They’d given him something to relax him, and it had worked very well.  He couldn’t walk yet.   

The evil inhaler was in a plastic bag on a table.  It was a stretch, but after a few tries Neal was able to grab it.  He turned the device around in his hands, wondering how to dismantle it.

Suddenly someone snatched it away.  “Don’t even think about using that again.”

Neal smiled.  “Hey, buddy!”  He’d been lying down, but sat up now and leaned over a little too much, trying to see behind Peter.

“Steady, now,” said Peter.  He grabbed Neal’s shoulders to bring him back in balance, and then stepped back and studied Neal.  “What did they give you?” he asked.

Neal had no idea, and didn’t care.  “Is Kate with you?”

“No.  We got the backpack, but she eluded us.”

“Aww, that’s nice, Peter.  You let her get away.  Thanks, buddy.”

“No, Neal.  We didn’t let her get away.  She pulled a gun on Jones, fired off a round, and made it to a car before he could catch up with her.”

That didn’t make sense to Neal.  They never used guns.  “She had a gun?  A gun-gun?  Not a fake?”

“Jones was in the military.  I trust his judgment when he says he saw a gun.”

“But it was dark,” Neal suggested.

“It isn’t open to debate, Neal.  She had a gun and she fired it.”

Neal slumped back against the wall.  “I hate guns.”

“From the audio feed, it sounded like you got Marie’s gun away from her without much of a struggle.  How’d you do that?”

Neal shrugged.  “She didn’t know how to hold it.  You shouldn’t pick up a gun unless you know what to do with it.”

“Is that something Ellen told you?”

“Yeah.  She taught me to shoot.  I got good at it.”  Neal pointed a finger at Peter, and squinted as he aimed.  “Put ‘em up!”

Peter pushed Neal’s hand down.  “Pack it up, cowboy.  This isn’t the OK Corral.”

Neal closed his eyes and asked, “What’s the difference ‘tween woozy and dizzy?  I think I’m one of those.”

“You could be both.”

“No, that’s too much.  I’ll be one at a time.  You know, I don’t like it here, but I don’t think I’m ready for the Hospital Game, yet.”

“I got news for you.  I will never be ready for you to play the Hospital Game, so don’t even try.  And that brings us to something I wanted to discuss.  Just who the hell is Henry Winslow?”

Neal opened his eyes and grinned at Peter.  “That’s sneaky, asking about Henry when I’m impaired.  You know, he asks a lot of questions about you, too.”

“I don’t find that comforting.”

“Don’t worry, Peter.  Henry’s me.”

Next thing Neal knew, Peter was checking his forehead.  “Are you running a fever, kid?  I just spoke with Henry Winslow, and he was definitely not you.”  Peter removed his hand.  “Not hot.  What kind of drugs did they give you?”

“No, no, no, no, no.  Not the same person.  He’s the alternate me.  Henry’s who I’d be if my dad didn’t… if the Marshals didn’t…  if we’d stayed, you know, like a normal family.  Then I’d be Henry, only younger.  Because he’s older than me,” Neal explained, as it seemed Peter didn’t get it.  “I’m gonna a throw a huuuuuuge party when he turns thirty.  You wanna come to the party, Peter?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was like St. Louis all over again, Peter thought.  Drugged and loopy, Neal was telling him something that was probably packed with meaning in his own mind, but made virtually no sense to Peter.  But he had figured out, eventually, that Neal’s cold-medicine induced ramblings had been about being abused as a nine-year-old child.  Peter would figure out this “alternate me” bit, too.  He was tired of playing cat-and-mouse with Neal about who this Winslow person was.  He’d use all of the resources at his disposal to get the truth. 

“Neal?  Neal, look at me.”

“Still wearing the same ugly suit as the last time I looked.”

Peter was surprised into glancing down at his own attire.  “What’s wrong with this suit?  I like this suit.”

“Makes you look like a Fed.”

“Yeah, well there’s a good reason for that.”

Neal chuckled, and looked a little more lucid.  “Did we get them, Peter?  Are Benny and Marie going down?”

“Yes and no.  The notes in Kate’s backpack provided a vital missing link in our investigation.  Benny wasn’t the one cheating at L&B.  He noticed there was a lot of unreported revenue, and his own investigation was at cross-paths with ours.  His notes proved that someone was selling goods on the black market, and not only pocketing that income, but also embezzling some of the company’s legitimate income.  It was another one of the partners, a ‘Wild Bill’ Wickham, who was behind it all.  He’s getting 2004 off to a very inauspicious start.”

“I think I met him at the party.”

“That’s right.  Wiese is arresting him, and getting more information from Sinclair.  You did a good job of making sure no one knew the FBI was at the party.  If Wickham had guessed we were aware of the fraud at L&B, he would have used Sinclair’s computer or gone home early to use his own equipment to access and obscure records of what he’d done.”

“I did good.”  Neal flashed a brief, tired smile.  “What about –”

“Mr. Caffrey,” interrupted a petite, brunette doctor in blue scrubs, “sorry for the wait.  New Year’s Eve.  Short on staff, long on drunken idiots who hurt themselves or each other.”  She pulled out her stethoscope.  “Take a deep breath for me.  Another one.  Good.  Good.”  The stethoscope went into a pocket, and she grabbed Neal’s wrist.  “Heart rate staying in normal levels.  Open your mouth.  Wider.”  She shone a penlight into his throat.  “Mm-hmm.  You can close your mouth, now.  Your throat’s still sore, I’ll bet.”

Neal nodded.

The doctor grabbed his chart, reviewed it, and added a few notes.  “Someone tampered with your inhaler?”

“Right,” Neal said.  He didn’t smile or make a witty remark.  Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen Neal too tired to flirt.

“I’m not a legal expert, but I can tell you tampering with an inhaler isn’t a fun little joke.  You should consider reporting it.  Whoever did it needs to take this seriously and be held accountable.  Your health insurance carrier may want to hold them accountable, too.”

Peter stepped forward.  “I’m with the FBI.  I’ll make sure it’s handled.”  He flashed his badge.

“Fine.  Mr. Caffrey, you seem to be in good health, other than the sore throat, and that will be improve over the next few hours.  I don’t expect you’ll have any more trouble breathing, if you take it easy and avoid irritants.  However, your insurance provider will pay for you to stay here for twelve more hours for observation.”

“I’ll drive him home,” Peter said, thinking of the Hospital Game.  “He’ll be better off there.”

The doctor looked to Neal for confirmation.  He shrugged, then nodded slightly. 

She turned back to Peter.  “Make sure he gets rest, and don’t let him drive today.  That was a strong sedative we gave him to relax his throat and lungs.  Keep him hydrated.  No alcohol, and soft foods would be best.  Try to avoid anything that will irritate his throat.  Do you smoke?”

“No,” Peter said.

“Good.  Keep him away from anyone who does.  Smoke would be the most likely trigger of renewed inflammation.  I don’t think he’ll have the energy for a workout, but that’s something he should avoid today.  No running, or any exercise that would cause him to breathe heavily.  Mr. Caffrey, you’re going to be a little unsteady at first.  Take your time gathering your things.  I’m going to send in someone with a wheelchair.  He’ll get you signed out and then take you to the parking lot.”  The doctor scurried out to deal with the next patient on her list.

“We didn’t get to play the Hospital Game,” said Neal.   He reached for his suit jacket and said, “Wait.  Did you say you talked to Henry?”

“That’s right.”

“This night keeps getting worse.”  He picked up his tie, looked for a moment like he might consider putting it back on, then placed it in a pocket of his suit coat.  “Don’t let him get in your head.  He does that, damn armchair psychologist.  He gets to con people legally.  You gotta ignore him when he tries that.”  Neal yawned.  “What did he plant in your head, Peter?”

Peter thought about that question.  And he realized, he hadn’t taken the time to _think_ about what Winslow had said.  Making sure Neal hadn’t been playing the Hospital Game had been too urgent to allow time for thought.  Now he reminded himself to use the skills of a decorated FBI agent to make an accounting of what Winslow had said.

First, Neal plays the Hospital Game.  True.  Neal had independently confirmed it.  Winslow’s reasons for telling Peter about it included distracting him from thinking about the rest of what Winslow said.  Also, by starting with something true, it made Peter more likely to believe the rest.  And yes, genuine concern about Neal was another reason for describing the Hospital Game.

Second, Winslow is Neal’s oldest friend, and feels like his brother.  Probably true.  The warning about the Hospital Game, and the threats of getting involved if the FBI mistreated Neal sounded as if they were driven from the mind-set of a protective older brother.  His reasons for telling Peter about this were to make Peter identify with Winslow, as another person who feels a responsibility toward Neal.  It also set Winslow up as a good guy, trying to help his friend.  And lastly, it made his threats more effective, by revealing a motive to carry through with those threats.

Third, Neal gets into the most trouble when he’s being the least selfish.  Probably true.  Peter had witnessed this in St. Louis, when Neal made an impetuous decision to help protect Peter’s cover by putting himself at risk.  And one of Peter’s biggest concerns returning to New York was that Neal would sacrifice his deal with the FBI to please Kate.  Winslow’s reason for mentioning this trait of Neal’s could be to paint Neal as a sympathetic figure who needs Winslow’s support and the FBI’s tolerance.

Fourth, Neal goes on guilt overdrive.  Probably not true.  Peter couldn’t reconcile this claim with anything he had observed.  Nor could he unravel a motive for Winslow to make this claim.  This one was a puzzle, which Peter wanted to revisit.

Last, Winslow had the resources to monitor Peter and the FBI’s treatment of Neal.  Unlikely. That kind of access and data was limited.  Even if Winslow were in the FBI himself, he wouldn’t be permitted to monitor another agent without probable cause.  But the reason for the threat was clear; Winslow wanted Peter to know that Neal wasn’t alone in the world, that he had friends willing to stand up for him, even against an entity as large and powerful as the FBI. 

Peter had to respect that level of courage and friendship, even as the law officer in him disapproved of Winslow’s approach.  Threats against the FBI and its agents were out of bounds.  If Winslow had worded his warning slightly more strongly, he would have been breaking the law.

This “legal con,” as Neal had described it, had placed a lot of information and assumptions in Peter’s head, and had taken a while to untangle.  The truth was, he still hadn’t untangled it all.  He was even starting to wonder…  Had Neal’s friend Mozzie always been odd, or had Winslow driven him crazy?

 “Peter?” Neal said.

Peter brought his attention back to Neal, who had kicked off this analysis of Winslow’s words by asking what the man had planted in Peter’s head.  All of that, from one phone call.  And he claimed to be Neal’s oldest friend.  “I think the better question is, what has he planted in _your_ head?”

Neal shook his head.  “He doesn’t get to me.  Not anymore.  I’m a wall.”

Peter withheld judgment on that one.  But he should follow up on the most puzzling of Winslow’s claims.  “Do you regret anything you’ve done, Neal?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Season 4, Peter said he checked out everyone who enters Neal’s life. I wanted to turn the tables on him, making him the new person in Neal’s life who’s being checked out by someone who considers himself Neal’s guardian angel. I didn’t think Peter would care for it.


	9. The Morning After

**Hospital, New Haven.  January 1, 2004 – Thursday morning, very early.**

Neal sat on a bed in the emergency department.  He’d put his shoes and suit jacket back on, and was waiting for a wheelchair.   He’d tried asking what Henry had said to Peter, and then Peter had gone silent for a long time.  That worried Neal a bit.  Henry could be unpredictable.

Finally Peter asked, “Do you regret anything you’ve done, Neal?”

He pondered that a moment.  “I didn’t notice Kate had a gun.  I honestly didn’t think to check.  I should have paid more attention.”

“No.  That’s not what I meant.  I’m not asking about this assignment.  I want to know if you regret any of those crimes you confessed to before coming to work for me.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s –”

“Mr. Caffrey,” said a male voice he didn’t recognize.  “If you’ll sign here, we’ll get you checked out.”

Neal took the pen he was handed and signed the form.  He was ninety-percent sure he signed his real name, and not Charles D’Arcy.

“All right then, Mr. Caffrey, let’s get you into the wheelchair.” 

“Should I pull around the main entrance?” Peter asked.

“Yes, sir.  No rush.  We’ll take it nice and slow.”

Neal swayed a bit as he tried to stand.  The nurse grabbed one arm to steady him, and Peter stepped forward to grab the other side.

“Easy,” Peter cautioned.  When Neal was safely in the wheelchair, Peter said, “I’ll see you at the car.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As soon as Peter entered the waiting room, Clinton Jones stood.  “Hey, Agent Burke, is Caffrey going to be okay?”

“Yeah, they’re bring him out now.  Give me the car keys, and we’ll drive around meet them at the front entrance.  You know, you don’t have to call me _Agent Burke_ all the time.  _Peter_ is fine.”  Jones followed him outside.  Peter started the car and said, “You were going to look into Hnery Winslow.”

“I did a basic background check.  Nothing popped as suspicious.”

“Do a deep background check.  I want to know everything I can about this guy.  I need to know what he’s up to.”

“You’re the boss.”  Jones noticed the boss was tired.  Well, what did you expect?  The man took his responsibility to the FBI and to his team seriously.  He’d spent the evening worrying about getting a warrant to search the Sinclair home, only to learn it wasn’t Benny they needed to go after.  He worried about getting Collins out safely, only to learn Collins hadn’t really been kidnapped.  And he had been worrying about a new guy on his first undercover assignment, only to learn Rice was taking huge risks with the guy’s safety, and that the new guy himself was willing to take huge risks.  Oh, and add in a cat burglar for fun.  No wonder Peter seemed wiped out.

They got Caffrey into the front passenger seat, reclining it so he could rest.  Agent Wiese was staying in Connecticut to continue working her case against Wickham, and wouldn’t be joining them for the return trip.  Jones offered to drive, and Peter surprised him by agreeing.  “Stop when we’re near the state line,” Peter instructed.  “We’ll get some coffee and I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

Peter settled into the back.  Jones adjusted the mirrors and then got underway.  In the rearview mirror, he could see Peter’s head bob.  He was asleep, or nearly there.

Caffrey was clearly exhausted, but fighting it.  He was rubbing his face, blinking his eyes, stretching his limbs to stay awake.

“I would’ve thought you’d be asleep before the boss.  Why are you fighting it?” Jones asked.

“They gave me a sedative.  If I fall asleep now I’ll go deep, almost unconscious.  And when that happens, some bad memories find their way to the surface.”

“I was in the Navy.  You spend a lot of time around guys who’ve seen combat, you learn a thing or two about PTSD.”

“I wouldn’t call it PTSD.  It’s just…  I’d prefer to face my nightmares alone.”  Neal yawned.  “Talk to me, keep me awake.  How does an FBI agent celebrate the end of a case?”

Jones chuckled.  “We’re the government.  We _celebrate_ with debriefing meetings and paperwork.  But don’t worry, you’ll get your share.  There are forms you’ll have to fill out for that little trip you took to the emergency room.  That’ll teach you to take insane risks in an op.”

“Great.  You had a different perspective from your end of things.  Would you say the night was a success?”

“Absolutely.  I mean, you scared the hell out of us a couple of times, but we got the information we needed, and the warrant.  Peter thought you did great.  He was proud as a parent whose kid hit a homerun in his first Little League game.”  Jones glanced over to catch Caffrey’s expression.  He had noticed within a few days of meeting him that Caffrey smiled a lot, but his smiles conveyed very different meanings depending on the circumstances.  Jones had started a mental catalog of Caffrey smiles.  There was the smooth smile he used when he met someone new, the slick smile when he wanted to talk you into something, the smug smile when he got away with it, the appreciative smile when he saw a hot woman, the covetous smile when he saw something valuable, the intrigued smile when a case took an interesting twist, and now there was this smile.  It was a brief but brilliant moment of surprised delight.  “Why do you ask?  Didn’t it seem successful from your end?  Other than the whole ambulance trip part, I mean.”

“All I’ve heard is that Benny is innocent but he had the data to prove someone else was behind L&B’s troubles.  Is anyone making sure Marie doesn’t hurt Bethanne?”

“Yeah, Marie’s up on assault charges, for pulling that gun on Collins.  That leaves the girls with their dad, and Child Protective Services will get involved.  And you know Collins got out safely, right?”

Caffrey waved that one away.  “I’m not real concerned about Agent Rice getting what she wanted.”

Jones smiled grimly.  “She talked about Missing Persons having a big win, but she wasn’t happy at the end.  She knows she’s going to face a disciplinary hearing over that inhaler.  The fact that Collins was actually at the Sinclair home voluntarily isn’t going to go in her favor, either.  I gotta ask, what was going on in that library?”

“Going on?” Caffrey repeated with a too-innocent expression. 

“When you were alone with Collins, suddenly you were talking about the value of the books.  I looked when I dropped off Agent Wiese, and I didn’t see _Paradise Lost_ anywhere.  I know you didn’t take it, because the hospital gave the boss everything you had on you.  What gives?”

“He got to me.  Collins, I mean.  Everything he said about not being a criminal, like that made him superior.  Like being a criminal and being bad were synonymous.  I was a criminal, but I wasn’t evil.  I left Wilkes’ crew when I realized he planned to hurt people.  The only reason Collins hadn’t committed a crime was because the timing didn’t work out.  I gave him a chance to make a conscious choice to commit a crime or not.  If the book was gone, that tells me I was right about him.  He’s no better than me.”

“Damn it, Caffrey.  Why didn’t you tell someone?  No one searched Collins, because he was supposedly a victim.  By now he’s at home with the book, and we have no evidence he stole it.”

Caffrey yawned again.  “We will.  A legitimate rare book dealer will ask for provenance that Collins can’t supply.  Eventually he’ll call me for help fencing it.”

“That’s why you repeated your name, and called yourself a thief?”

“You got it.”  Caffrey fiddled with the temperature controls, turning them down slightly.

“You set up a sting on the fly while undercover for another case.”

“Why not?  Wasn’t hard.  I had everything I needed right there to catch another bad guy.  Two crimes solved for the price of one.”

“But until you started, there was only one crime.  You caused a second crime to be committed.”

Caffrey shrugged, “Like you said, it was a sting.  That’s how it works, right?  You set up the conditions to catch someone in the act.”

“Yeah, but you skipped a few steps.  You know, like running the idea past your boss and getting clearance.  You don’t go around randomly setting up stings because it’s easy or fun.  We’ve got enough crimes to solve.  We don’t have to create new ones to show off.”

“You’re jealous.”

Jones was shocked.  “Why would I be jealous of you?  I’m an agent, certified at Quantico.  You’re a consultant and confessed criminal.”  As he said it, Jones could hear Agent Rice in the back of his head.  _Papers from Quantico_.  He felt a twinge of regret at sounding like her, but couldn’t deny that he thought an FBI agent was inherently superior to a former criminal.

“You’re jealous because you don’t think you could have done the same thing.  Not sure if it’s because you don’t have the skills, or don’t have the nerve.”

“Aren’t con artists supposed to be all nice and friendly?”

“That’s one approach.  Sometimes you get what you want by making someone defensive or emotional.  Or taking them by surprise.  People slip up, say what they really think, what they’re too polite to say normally.  You learn a lot…”  Caffrey’s eyes slid shut for a moment.  Then he blinked a few times.

You can learn a lot when someone is tired, too.  And Jones asked what had been bothering him.  “Why go through everything with the inhaler again for someone you disliked as much as Collins?”

“I didn’t do it for Collins.  I did it for Peter.  He wanted Collins out of there without making Benny suspicious.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter dozed off and on in the backseat, but caught pieces of the conversation between Neal and Jones.

_I did it for Peter._

It was tempting to jump into the conversation when he heard that.  The only reason he didn’t was that it was obvious Neal was slowing down.  He’d be asleep in a few minutes, and he needed the rest.  A rousing argument could wait.

“Speaking of getting out.  Did the Gardiners get away from the party?” Neal asked, slurring his words slightly.

“Yeah,” Jones said.  “They followed the ambulance.  They talked to Peter a few minutes at the hospital, and then headed home.”

Thomas Gardiner had praised Neal.  He said their new consultant showed a lot of promise.

“Guillaume do okay?” Neal asked.  More like mumbled.  He was almost asleep.

“He did good.  You were right.  He was excited about working with the FBI.”

“Mm-hmm.  Didn’t know Kate had a gun.  Sorry didn’t warn you.”

“That would have been good to know,” Jones said.  After a lengthy pause he said, “Caffrey?”

“Let him sleep,” Peter said.

“He wanted to stay awake,” Jones responded.

“The stuff the hospital gave him was pretty powerful.  I don’t think he has much choice.”

“You hear what he said about that book?”

Peter nodded.  “We’ll put out word to rare book dealers in the area to watch for it.”

“You’re okay with what Caffrey did?”

“Let’s say I understand the impulse.  Collins was a jerk.  If Caffrey didn’t exactly do things by the book, it isn’t entirely his fault.  We threw him undercover with no real training about how it’s supposed to be done in the Bureau.  He has a lot of real-world experience, more than a new agent would have, but it came from being a con artist.  When the op took some unexpected turns, it’s not a big surprise that he fell back on what he knew.”

They remained silent for the next several miles.  Neal mumbled, “No.  Sasha, stay,” and then fell silent again.  But soon he started to breathe heavily, and was tossing a bit in the front seat.

“Neal,” Peter said, leaning forward.  “Wake up.”

“We’re almost at the state line.  I’m gonna look for a place to stop,” Jones said, merging over to take the next exit.

“Gun,” Neal said, more clearly.

“C’mon, Neal.  Wake up,” Peter said.

“Shot him.  My fault.  He’s gonna die.”

As Jones pulled into a fast food restaurant’s parking lot, Peter unbuckled his seat belt and shook Neal’s shoulder. 

“Too much blood.  It’s my fault,” Neal said.  He was almost panting in a panic-filled nightmare, and the doctor had warned that he shouldn’t be breathing heavily while he recovered from the drug in the inhaler. 

“Neal!” Still not getting through to the kid, Peter tried, “Danny!”

Neal’s eyes fluttered open.  “Trying to protect me.  My fault.”

“That’s some serious guilt,” Jones said.  It brought back Winslow’s comment.  _Guilt overdrive._   Not about things, but about people.  Maybe Winslow had a point, after all.

“You’re safe, now.  I need you to come back to me,” Peter said.  “Deep breath.  Attaboy.  Neal?”

Neal was breathing more normally now.  “Yeah?”

“Another flashback?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You know who I am?” Peter asked.

Neal grinned.  “Dad?”

“Smartass.  That’s three flashbacks in less than a month.  You said they used to be years apart.  You’ve really got to talk to someone.”

Neal stretched.  “Not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Peter agreed.  “But soon.”


	10. After Party

**Connecticut.  January 1, 2004 – Thursday morning.**

After stopping for coffee, they returned to the car and Peter took the driver’s seat.  Once they were back on the road he asked, “You had a dog named Sasha?”

“Huh?” Neal said.

“You said, ‘Sasha, stay.’  Sounded like you were talking to a dog.”

“I never had a dog.”  Neal sounded puzzled.

“But a dog was there, when you saw someone get shot.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?”

“Your flashback, of watching someone get shot.”

“I don’t remember anything like that,” Neal insisted.

“You said you repressed some memories,” Peter said, trying to be vague since Jones didn’t know Neal had been abused as a child.

“Yeah, but…  She… They told me what happened.  No one mentioned a dog, or someone being shot.”  Neal sounded upset now.  “Why wouldn’t she have told me about that?”

“You were nine years old.  That might have been more intense than they thought you could handle.”

“When I was nine, sure.  But why not later?”

“Did you really talk about it later?” Peter asked.

Neal shrugged.  “There’s a lot we didn’t talk about, I guess.”

As they entered New York City, traffic became heavy.  People who had gathered in Times Square for New Year’s Eve were heading home.  Peter offered to drop Jones off, first, but the junior agent declined saying, “I’d like to go along to Caffrey’s place, if you don’t mind.  Say hey to Mr. Ellington if he’s awake.”

When they arrived at the mansion, Byron and June were in the music room, chatting with a short, balding man with dark-rimmed glasses.  Peter didn’t recognize him.

“… and that’s how I came into possession of a bottle of Shackleton whiskey,” the man was saying, as June laughed.  And Peter knew the voice.  This was Neal’s friend Mozzie.

Neal paused before entering the room.  When he straightened his posture and added a carefree grin, you almost couldn’t tell how exhausted he was.  Peter was impressed by the skill that made Neal perfect for cons and undercover work, while worried about the fact Neal was treating real life as a con.  What crazy lengths would this kid go to, to make his friends happy?

“Are we too late for the party?” Neal asked, as he strolled casually into the room.

“Happy New Year!” June called out, as she stood to embrace him.  “Peter, Clinton, won’t you join us?  Mozzie, another round of champagne for our guests, please.”

Neal took a chair beside Byron, while the FBI agents followed June to a buffet table.  Peter grabbed a plateful of finger foods and a cup of coffee.  Jones took up the offer of champagne, but as the driver Peter was too tired to indulge.  He brought his food back to the music room, planning to talk to Mozzie, but when he saw Neal and Byron deep in conversation, he couldn’t resist listening.

“The thing is,” Neal said, “Peter’s been asking if I have any regrets, about the crimes I committed.”

“Do you?” Byron asked.

“Well, no.  But I can’t win.  If I tell him the truth, he’ll be disappointed in me for not having regrets.  But if I say I do have regrets, he’ll be disappointed in me for lying to him.”

“You can’t live your life to please other people.”

Neal eyed Byron in surprise.  “Isn’t that what you did?  You gave up the life for your family.”

“No, you can’t look at it like that.  I gave it up to have a family, because they were more important to me.  If they weren’t, I wouldn’t have been able to stick with it.  But I didn’t regret the choices I made.  How could I, when they led me to June and our girls?  I wouldn’t do a damn thing different.”  Byron reached out, and patted Neal’s hand.  “You gotta ask yourself, are you satisfied with where you are now?”

“Are you kidding?” Neal asked.  “Living here.  Working for Peter and finally getting some interesting work at the FBI.  Friends like you.  I wouldn’t change that.”

“And if you had to choose, between giving up what you have now forever to return to the life, or giving up the life forever to keep what you have now… Do you know what you’d chose?”

Neal didn’t even pause to think about it.  “I’d choose what I have now.”

“But you enjoyed it.  The cons, the heists.”

“Exactly,” Neal said.  “It was fun.  It was exciting.  Every once in a while I’d join a crew and find out they planned to get violent, to hurt people, and I’d get out.  I stayed with the jobs I enjoyed.  And I was good at it.  I was proud of what I was able to do.  And…  and I’m still proud of it.  But I think the Bureau won’t accept that.  I have this friend who says that they’ll label me a sociopath if they know I’m not sorry for my crimes.”

Byron laughed hoarsely.  “Sociopath.  Folks always gotta complicate things.  This friend, he think you’re a sociopath?”

“No.  Henry says I’ve got too much regret in my life, not too little.  That I try to take responsibility for the safety and happiness of everyone around me, and blame myself if anything goes wrong in their lives.”

“That’s a heavy burden.  That’s what’s got you worried now, isn’t it?  You’re worried your new friends at the FBI will be unhappy because you aren’t unhappy about your past life.  You think you gotta be miserable to make them like you?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not a sociopath, boy.  You’re an addict.”

“What?  No!”  Neal protested.  “I never –”

“Listen to me.  A con is a rush.  It’s an addiction, like a drug.  Most folks have to hit rock bottom before they can give it up.  Me, I went to prison twice and almost went back again.  I realized I wouldn’t be around to see my girls grow up, if I didn’t make a change.  That was what made me stop.  Now, you…  You got a rare chance here.  What you did tonight, did it give you the same rush?”

“It wasn’t exactly the same.  But yeah, the rush was there.”

“If you can exchange an addiction they don’t approve of, for one they sanction, you got it all.  Don’t even have to face any withdrawal.  You’ve got it made, boy.  You should be happy, and they should be happy for you.”

“I wish they understood that,” Neal said.

Byron looked right up at Peter, who had been lurking silently behind Neal.  “You understand, Fed?”

“I’m starting to,” Peter said.

Neal stared up at him, shock apparent on his face.  “I didn’t know…”

Peter set his plate down.  “Yeah, and the fact that you didn’t know I was here tells me you really need to get some sleep.  It’s a holiday.  Get some rest and we’ll talk at the office on Friday.”

Byron said, “You look tired, Neal, and that’s saying a lot coming from me these days.  You give June one more hug and head on upstairs.”

Neal squeezed Byron’s hand gently, and then walked over to June.  Peter watched his consultant wish everyone a Happy New Year and then make his exit. 

“Sit on down,” Byron said.  “I can’t stand up long enough these days to come up to your level and look intimidating.”

Peter took the same chair Neal had used.  “You’re good with him.”

“Helps that I don’t think he’s a sociopath.”

“I never said he was,” Peter stated calmly.  “But I can see why he would be worried I might think it.  I wish I had your wisdom.”

“Comes with a price,” Byron said.  “Seeing the end of your life staring you in the face, that gives you some clarity you don’t always have.  I wish I had more time to help him through everything he’s gonna face.”

“I think you’ve already made a big difference.”

“I hope that’s right.  He’s a special one.  You see it, that’s why you recruited him instead of arresting him.  I don’t think he realizes how rare he is, and that’s gonna be hard on him.  Me, I had a friend I tried to turn around, but I finally realized Ford can’t change.  This Kate that Neal talks about, he’ll want to bring her along with him.  If she can’t change, he’s gonna suffer.  I don’t think I’ll be around long enough to see him through that.”

“What can I do to help him?” Peter asked.

“Remind him, he has value.  The work he’s doing for you, it has value.  That’s how you keep him.  What he did before, that was fun.  And what he’s doing now is fun.  If it’s a choice between one form of fun and another, that’s a toss-up, right?  It’s a flip of the coin.  Keep reminding him, the difference is he’s helping people, now.  And the people in his new life, people like you, you care about him.  That’s how you keep old friends from dragging him back to his old life.”  Byron paused for a sip of champagne.  “Don’t tell my doctor about this.  Peter, you keep reminding him, everything he did, every skill he picked up, he can use it for good.  You’re glad he has those skills, and you need to let him know it.  Don’t judge him on how he got those skills, ‘cause there’s nothing he can do to change the past.  You need to let that go.  He can work for the FBI, and still be himself.  Be content with that, and let him be happy.”

Peter had more questions for Byron, but the man looked as tired as Neal had.  Instead he made eye contact with June, who made her way over to chat.  After a minute, Peter wished the couple a Happy New Year, and said he needed to get home.  Jones added his best wishes, as well.  Mozzie had disappeared.  But back in the car, Jones said, “That little guy, Mozzie?  He is one strange dude.”

“What did he say?” Peter asked.

“What didn’t he say?  At first I thought he was onto the tracking you asked me to do, using Neal’s cell phone records as a test of the data the NSA is pulling from carriers.  But then I realized he thinks every government agency is part of a conspiracy, and privacy is a myth.  And he says the moon landing was a fake.”

“I knew he was crazy.”

“Crazy, but smart.  And an encyclopedia when it comes to alcohol.”


	11. Paperwork

**White Collar Division, New York.  January 2, 2004 – Friday morning.**

Jones hadn’t been kidding about the paperwork.  After a morning briefing that included a lot of teasing from Jones and Tricia about his impersonation of Harry Potter, Neal spent the first half of the day writing his report of what had happened at the Sinclair home, and completing the dreaded forms for his trip to the hospital.

Mid-afternoon he received the double finger-point, summoning him up to Peter’s office.

“Collins didn’t waste any time trying to sell the book.  He reached out to the best-known buyers before we could even warn them.  As you guessed, they sent him away until he could provide provenance.  He’s already called us, ostensibly to make sure you’re recovered, and requested your phone number.  If he contacts you, send him to these people.”  Peter handed Neal a business card.

“Hurst Collectibles.”

“They do us some favors occasionally.  Set up a meet, let us know, and we’ll pick him up at Hurst.”

Neal pocketed the card.  “You didn’t give me another case this morning.  I’m done with the paperwork from the last one.”

“Not quite.  I have a couple more forms for you.  Here’s the first one.”  Peter handed a sheet of paper to Neal.

“Request for Psychological Therapy?  Peter, I’m not doing this.”

“You need it, and it’s free.  What’s the problem?”

“Are you kidding?  You don’t see a problem with baring my soul to some stranger, who’s going to put everything he finds into an FBI file?  So much for keeping my time in WITSEC a secret.”

“You’re refusing?”

“I’m not ready for this.  And when I am, I want to talk to someone who’s on my side.”

“There aren’t _sides_ in psychology.”

Neal crossed his arms.  “You’re being naïve.  There are people in the Bureau who don’t want me here, and they would latch onto this as an excuse to get rid of me.  They’d say that needing a psychologist after my first undercover case is evidence that I can’t handle this work.”

Peter sighed.  “I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m not letting go of this.  I will find a way to get you the help you need, and to make you accept it.”

“Bring it on.”

Peter’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile.  “That’s really not the attitude you’re supposed to take with your boss.  Or with your health.”

Neal took a less defensive posture.  “I might be a little stubborn about these things.”

“Oh, ya think?”  Peter’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Grateful that Peter wasn’t pushing the matter, Neal was willing to be generous in return, and said, “Once when I was really sick, I refused to go to the hospital and Henry took me to the morgue, instead.  He said that’s where I was going to end up, and he threatened to leave me there unless I agreed to see a doctor.”

“Did it work?” Peter asked.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll remember that.  And I’m glad you mentioned your friend.  After my chat with Henry Winslow, I have more questions about him.”

Neal leaned forward.  “Before you say anything else, I want to thank you, Peter.  I know you have a lot of resources available to you, and if you wanted, you could have pulled all kinds of information about Henry already.  The fact that you still don’t know much about him, tells me that you haven’t resorted to that.  It tells me you trust me enough to believe me when I say he’s not dangerous.  In fact, I think of the topic of Henry as being a barometer of your trust.  And…  Well, it means a lot to me.”

Peter studied Neal a moment and then said, “Do you return that trust?”

“Of course.”

“And do you understand that I can learn to trust you, but still not trust this Winslow character?”

“He’s harmless.  Well, mostly harmless.”

“That’s an opinion, not a statement of fact.  When I spoke to him, he made a point of coming across as ruthless, not harmless.  I need more information about him, to reconcile your view of him with my experience of him.  The fact is, some of the things he said directly contradicted things you’ve said.”

“What did he say that has you concerned?” Neal asked.

“When he said he was your oldest friend, he also mentioned the Marshals.  He made it clear, without specifically saying it, that he knew you’d been in WITSEC.  And yet you said you didn’t know you were in WITSEC growing up, and that you hadn’t mentioned it to anyone after you found out.  How does he know you, and know about your situation?  How is it that you trust him enough not to betray your secret?”

Interesting.  Neal would have to ask Henry why he chose to make that revelation to Peter.  “You must have a theory.”

“I’ve considered that he might work for the Marshals. Or he might have been a friend from St. Louis who happened to be present when Ellen told you the truth.”

“Or both,” suggested Neal.  “A friend who went to work for the Marshals because of what he heard.”

“Is that it?” Peter asked.

“No, but it’s a really good theory.”

“Theory isn’t going to cut it.  I want the truth.”

Neal considered his options.  Information about Henry was valuable, serving as a bargaining tool when dealing with Peter.  He needed to share enough now to appease Peter, but still withhold enough for future use.  And of course, there was information he wasn’t free to share at all.  “Let me get this straight.  If I tell you how I first met Henry, and how he came to know I was in WITSEC, you’ll be satisfied?”

“For now.”

“Once upon a time –”

“I’m looking for the truth,” Peter interrupted.  “Not a fairy tale.”

“Picky.  I’m trying to introduce a little dramatic structure into what is otherwise a boring, prosaic list of facts.”

“Don’t embellish.”

“Fine.  Don’t blame me if it puts you to sleep.  My mom had a best friend growing up.  That friend is Henry’s mom.  Mrs. Winslow moved away from D.C. when she got married, but still had family in the area and returned for holidays and vacations, bringing Henry with her.  He’s a little more than two years older than me.  Neither of us remembers the first time we met, but he was a presence in my life since shortly after I was born.  That’s why Henry says he’s my oldest friend.”

“You don’t actually remember him from your pre-WITSEC days?”

“No, I don’t.”

“And did your mother mention him, or his mother, when you were in St. Louis?”

“No, and I get where you’re going with this, Peter.  Henry is the one who told me our moms were best friends, but I didn’t believe him blindly.  He’s showed me records and old family photos.  Our moms were in each other's weddings.  His mom was my godmother when I was christened, and my mom was his godmother.”

“Christening.  Your parents were Catholic?”

“Yeah, but when the Marshals moved us, our new identity had us as Protestants, so I wasn’t raised Catholic.”

“If your mothers were best friends growing up, then they probably had a lot in common.”

“That’s a safe bet,” Neal confirmed.

“That’s why you called Winslow the alternate you.  You assume that if it weren’t for your father’s crimes sending you into WITSEC, your life would have been a lot like his.”

Neal nodded.  “It’s something Henry and I have talked about.”

“You skipped the part of the story about how he learned you were in WITSEC.”

“I didn’t skip it.  I simply paused for Q&A.  I can resume whenever you’re ready.”

“Get on with it.”

“When my father confessed to murder, it was a rough time for my mom.  She asked her best friend for support.  Mrs. Winslow and Henry came to D.C., and were at our home when the Marshals came to take us away.  Mrs. Winslow helped my mom pack, and helped spread the story the Marshals had decided on, that my grandparents didn’t want my parents’ chaos in their lives and cut off all contact with us, and that we moved away to make a fresh start.”

“You were three and he was what, five?”

“Almost six.”

“He actually remembers the Marshals taking you away?”

“Yeah, it was a big deal.  He didn’t understand at the time what was going on, but he figured it out as he got older, from some conversations he overheard between his parents.”

“You never saw him again, while you were in WITSEC?”

“That’s right.”

Peter wore his puzzle-solving frown.  “There’s something you’re not telling me.  How did you connect again after you left WITSEC?  And why?  And if you hadn’t met since you were three and almost six, how did you even know each other?”

“Excellent questions.  But not part of our bargain.”

“You realize that not knowing the answers is going to drive me nuts.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I don’t think you fully comprehend what it means to work for someone you’re driving nuts.  The opportunities for retaliation are endless.”

“I trust you’ll be fair, Peter.  I kept my side of the bargain.”

Peter picked up another form.  “I said there were two forms I needed to give you.  I was going to feel sorry about this one, but now I’m thinking of it as payback.” 

Neal took the form.  “Firearm certification?  Peter, I already told you I’m not going to carry a gun.”

“All the rest of my team were certified at Quantico, so it’s not an issue for them.  However, you held a gun on Marie Sinclair the other night.  Either you get certified as knowing what you’re doing with a firearm, or you face an official reprimand.”

“I’ll –”

“And the reprimand is not an option.  It makes it harder for the team to accept you, and it reflects badly on me.  I’m taking you to the firing range personally.”

There was a knock on the door.  Peter nodded and Jones stepped in.  “Agent Burke, do you have a moment?”

“Come in, Jones.  Neal, we’re going to get this over with, so you don’t have time to stress over it.  Go grab your things.  We’re leaving for the firing range as soon as I’m done with Jones.  I’ll drop you by your home when we’re done.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jones closed the door to Peter’s office after Neal left.  “You asked me to run a deep background check on Henry Winslow?  Since he’s not a suspect or person of interest in an active investigation, I don’t have a case number to file with the requests.  But I found a form for that kind of thing.  I need your signature, and then I’ll have an authorization number the systems will accept.”

Peter took a deep breath.  He wanted that information about Winslow, but wanted Neal’s trust more.  “Hold off on that, for now.  It isn’t as urgent as I thought.”

Jones nodded.  Peter expected that he’d leave, but instead, after a glance down at the bullpen he asked, “You’re taking Caffrey to target practice?”

“That’s right.”

“After that flashback he had about someone being shot, you think he can handle it?”

“I honestly don’t know what to expect.  He seemed fine taking away and holding Marie Sinclair’s gun.  He said he’s been in situations with armed guards in the past without any issues, but something has changed.  I need to get a feel for what he can handle before I send him back into a situation where someone’s got a gun.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter was impressed with Neal’s ability to handle a gun.  When he held a firearm he was serious and efficient, and his aim was fantastic.  He aced the standard target practice, as well as the video scenario where you try to shoot the bad guy and not the innocent victims.

“You never used a gun in any of your crimes?” Peter had to ask when they were leaving.

“I told you, I hate guns.”

“You didn’t get this skilled without practice.”

“I grew up wanting to be cop, like in the stories my mom told me about my dad.  It was a skill a cop needs.”  They had almost reached the exit, when a door opened to another area.  Neal’s eyes widened.  “Are they playing laser tag in there?”

“It’s a multi-partner evasion role-play, with light-based weapons.”

“Laser tag.  We have to try that.  C’mon, Peter.”  Neal’s expression held an almost irresistible combination of mischief, fun and hope.

Peter hated to extinguish the light in the kid’s eyes, but had to say, “We can’t.  I promised El that this time I’d make it to the drycleaners before they closed.”

“And you know I’d win.”

“In your dreams.”  Peter drove to a drycleaners in Brooklyn, aware he’d have to backtrack to drop Neal at Riverside Drive.  He didn’t mind the long drive, because he wanted time to observe Neal’s reactions.  As they left the target practice, he was calm and chatty, seemingly unaffected by firing a gun.  But by the time Peter was looking for a parking place in front of the drycleaners, he noticed a fine trembling in the young man’s hands.  “You hanging out with the Ellingtons tonight?” Peter asked as he pulled into the parking spot.

Neal reached forward to turn up the heat, probably trying to convince Peter the trembling was due to the temperature.  “They’re going to a club tonight, someplace they used to go when they first got married.  Byron hates being seen in the wheelchair, but they know there won’t be many more days he’s strong enough to go out.”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to your friend Mozzie the other night.  You think he’ll be around when I drop you off?”

“He’s got something going on.”

“I’ll be right back,” Peter said, and hurried to retrieve his clothing before the drycleaners closed.  He didn’t like the idea of leaving Neal alone right now, and it sounded like he would be alone if Peter stuck to the plan of dropping him off at Riverside Drive.  Returning to the car he placed a call to El, who for once was working later than he was.  After a quick conversation, he pocketed the phone, laid the clothing down carefully in the back of the car, and returned to the driver’s seat.  “You like Chinese food?” he asked Neal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 2004, no one was saying “there’s an app for that,” so it amused me to have Jones find “there’s a form for that” in the FBI.
> 
> In the next chapter, Neal will meet Elizabeth and Satchmo. After that, he has to decide whether to help Mozzie get his hands on the book Collins stole.


	12. Dinner with the Burkes

**Burke Residence, Brooklyn.  January 2, 2004 – Friday evening.**

On the way home, Elizabeth Burke was consumed with curiosity about her husband’s consultant.  She’d been wrapping up her day at the art gallery when Peter called to say he was worried about Neal Caffrey, who hadn’t been out of the hospital very long.  He didn’t think Neal should be left alone, but also didn’t think Neal would welcome any concern about his well-being.  Peter proposed conning the con man.  He was going to tell Neal that El had called volunteering to pick up Chinese food on the way home.  If he took Neal to Riverside Drive, dinner would get cold, making it more convenient to have Neal join them for the meal.

When Elizabeth opened the door to their townhouse, she saw two suit jackets on the sofa.  The one in a crumpled pile she recognized as Peter’s.  It fit perfectly with her view of her husband, who was in the dining room, setting the table.  Clothing and appearances weren’t a high priority for Peter.  That’s probably one of the reasons he forgot to stop at the drycleaners half the time.

The other jacket was clearly more expensive.  Finely tailored in a high quality wool fabric, it was folded carefully and precisely, with a silk tie centered on top.  It fit perfectly with her view of a slick con man. 

What didn’t fit her expectations was the sight she observed on the living room floor.  Satchmo, the exuberant golden Labrador that normally would have been getting in Peter’s way, was tangled up with a young man, whose face Satchmo was trying to lick.  The man wore slacks and shoes that clearly went with the expensive suit jacket, but his white shirt had come untucked, and his dark hair was in disarray from wrestling with the determined dog.  He laughed with such unadulterated joy that he looked and sounded too young to be the accomplished forger and thief Peter had described.  El would have guessed he was barely twenty years old.  When she closed the door behind her, he looked up, his bright blue eyes shining with pure happiness. 

He wasn’t at all what Elizabeth had expected, and she couldn’t help saying, “You’re James Bonds?”

He sat up straight, and pushed his hair out of his face.  “James Bonds?” he repeated.

Peter groaned.  “He wasn’t supposed to know about that.”

Neal turned his delighted grin toward Peter.  “You called me James Bonds?”

“It was a case file name for an anonymous bond forger.”

Neal looked into the face of an adoring dog.  “I’m Bonds.  James Bonds.”

“I wanted to avoid this,” Peter told El.  “He’s going to be insufferable now.”  But even though he tried to sound displeased, Peter was smiling.

Throughout the meal, Neal and El bonded over a discussion of art.  Eventually she said, “It’s obvious you love art.  Why would you forge an artwork?  It seems disrespectful.”

She felt Peter go still beside her.  He was more an aficionado of art theft than actual art itself.  This turn in the conversation caught his interest. 

At first Neal looked at El, but seemed to be looking through her, absorbed in memory.  “It’s a long story,” he finally said.

Mindful of the fact that Peter wanted to keep Neal at the house for a while, El smiled.  “I see.  Then let’s clear off the table, grab a glass of wine, and settle in the living room before you start telling us about it.”

Neal shrugged.  “Okay.”  As he carried his dishes into the kitchen, El looked expectantly at Peter.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t interrogate him.”

“I wasn’t going to –” he started.

“Wasn’t going to what?” Neal asked as he returned from the kitchen.

“He wasn’t going to hog the sofa with Satchmo,” El said, “but somehow it always happens.”  She went into the kitchen for wineglasses, and Neal helped select and pour the wine.  Peter settled into the old recliner from his bachelor days that El swore she would eventually get rid of, with Satchmo by his side.  Neal and El took the sofa.

Neal paused a moment to savor the wine, and then said.  “I broke my arm as a kid.  Someone recommended art lessons to regain dexterity, and I was enrolled in classes.”

“You loved it?” Peter guessed.

“No, I hated it.”

“You hated art?” El asked.

“I loved art,” Neal said.  “I hated that I couldn’t express what I wanted.  A friend once described his frustration learning a second language in high school as having big thoughts he wanted to express, but with a tiny, child-like vocabulary that prevented him from saying anything interesting.  That’s how I felt.  All around the classroom were posters of amazing artworks, and what we were doing was so childish, it felt like a waste of time.”  Getting caught up in the story, he toed off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table.  Then he looked at El. “Umm. I should have asked first.”

She grinned and kicked off her own shoes. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t putting much of an effort in the art classes, and I guess I was starting to put up a fuss about going. That all changed after my aunt took me to an art museum.  Seeing actual works like that, where you could make out the brushstrokes, it was incredible.  There was a Van Gogh I stared at long enough to start gathering attention, and then I pointed to a specific area of the painting and asked ‘How did he do that?’  I leaned in so close that a guard actually pulled me away from the painting.  But an art professor was part of the crowd.  He took my hand, as if I were holding a brush, and showed me exactly how to accomplish what Van Gogh had done.  I kept asking him questions for nearly an hour.  And then he said he taught classes for children on weekends, and offered to let me join.  It was an older set of kids.  I was still in elementary school and they were junior high age, but it was perfect.”

“He taught by emulating the classics,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s a traditional approach, and learning how the masters created masterpieces resonated with me.  In that setting, there’s a reverence to copying a piece of art.  An average reproduction is mimicry, and you can sense the new artist is constrained.  But if you love the original art, love creating art, and have a good eye for it, then you really are recreating art rather than simply copying it.  The new version retains that sense of freedom of the original artist, rather than constraint.” 

Neal paused for another sip of wine, and El asked if he wanted a refill.

He shook his head, and continued the story. “My first forgeries were enabled by what I learned in those classes, but my forgeries weren’t of art, and I wasn’t doing it for profit.  I needed a bus pass to get to school, and later an ID that made me older in order to take care of some things for my mom.  We were going to get into trouble if I kept missing school, and dealing with utilities and banks required being perceived as at least eighteen.  I knew I was good at those forgeries, and I took pride in my work. I didn’t have any other options to keep my mom out of trouble with the civil authorities, so I couldn’t feel guilty about breaking the rules of those same authorities in order to meet their demands.  That’s just the way the world worked.”

“But when did you turn to art forgery?” she asked.

“My junior year of high school, I was taking classes with college students, still learning from the same professor.  There was a project he assigned us that fall, to spend the entire semester perfecting a single reproduction.  Mine was a Degas, and I was really proud of it.  I knew I was good, but this was the best work I’d ever done.  The professor raved over it, said he was going to add it to the school’s collection.  I was disappointed about not getting to keep it, but being included in a university art collection sounded impressive.  The problem was, whenever I wanted to see that collection, the timing never worked out with the professor.  Then, early in the next semester, he was arrested.  I followed the story, and when I heard he’d been accused of selling a forged Degas, I realized what had happened.”

Peter shook his head.  “I remember hearing about that case.  We always assumed it was the professor’s own work.  That forgery sold for nearly four million dollars.”

“All that money,” Neal said, “and I didn’t see a penny of it.”

“It all came down to money?” Elizabeth asked.  “That’s why you started forging art?”

“It was more complex than that.  This professor, he’d been a mentor for me.”

“A father figure,” Peter suggested.

“You could say that, I guess.  That relationship, and the world of art, had all existed in a bubble, untainted by everything else in my life.  The money issues, my mom’s drinking, that all disappeared when I stepped into the role of an artist.  But suddenly art wasn’t pure anymore.  It was one more system that exploited people, and my reaction was to exploit it back.  Because I could.  Because it deserved to be exploited.  Because it seemed like a victimless crime.  Eventually I was in too deep.”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked. 

El frowned at him, and mouthed, “Don’t interrogate him.”

Neal shrugged.  “A few years ago, someone figured out that Degas was mine.  It was someone I wanted to impress.  He asked me to prove how good I was, by forging an unforgeable bond.  Not just reproducing a single copy, but doing it in a way that could be mass produced.  I did it, not for money, but to show off.  He kept most of the bonds, and evidence that I’d created them. He gave me a few, knowing I’d be tempted to cash them in when I needed money.”

“And that’s what put you on our radar,” Peter said.

“Right.  At that point there was no going back.”

“This someone you wanted to impress, was it another father figure?”

“What can I say?  My choice of mentors hasn’t been the best.”  Neal chuckled without mirth.  “You know, the day before he disappeared, Vincent Adler said I was like a son.  As soon as he said that, I had a bad feeling about him.”

“When you gave your confession, you never mentioned that someone asked you to create the bonds.”

“What would be the point?  He didn’t technically break any laws.”

Peter frowned.  “If he’s commissioning crimes, I’d like to keep an eye on him.”

Neal shook his head.  “You’re not going to catch him in a pattern of commissioning crimes.  That was an aberration.  He wanted to make a point of the fact that I was a criminal.  It was personal.”

“Now that we have your confession for that crime, and you have immunity for it, whatever evidence he has shouldn’t have any power over you now.”

“You’re mostly right,” Neal said.  “Don’t worry about it, Peter.  He’s not going to trick or coerce me into committing any more crimes.”

Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but Elizabeth shook her head.  To turn the conversation in another direction, she said, “My father would be fascinated by your story, Neal.  He’s a psychiatrist, and he’s always been interested in how people’s childhood experiences affect their adult choices.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me,” Neal warned.  “If you try to sketch my character tonight, ‘there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.’”

It was clear Neal was quoting something, and it seemed familiar.  Elizabeth thought about it a moment, and then felt her eyes widen in recognition.  Immediately she grabbed a throw pillow and started pummeling Neal with it.

He held up his arms to block the blows and laughed.  “You don’t like _Pride and Prejudice_?”

Elizabeth finally put down the pillow, but glared at him.  “You do not get to quote Mr. Darcy to another man’s wife.  Some things are sacred.”

“I stand corrected.”

Elizabeth viewed him with suspicion.  “Is that another _Pride and Prejudice_ quote?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

At that point Peter, who looked very much as if he were trying not to laugh, suggested that he should drive Neal home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After everything I’ve put Neal through in this story, I thought he deserved a chapter that was mostly fun. But now it’s time to return to actual plot. The next chapter will bring back Mozzie and Dr. Collins.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and reviews. They really brighten my day.


	13. Chase

**Peter’s car.  January 2, 2004 – Friday evening.**

“Thanks,” Neal said on the drive back to Riverside Drive.

“For what?” Peter asked.

“The whole dinner thing.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“That was –” Peter started.

“It was a set up.  You were worried about me, and came up with that whole convoluted scheme.  But it was… better than I thought it would be.”

“With all of those father figures in your life, I’d have guessed you’re used to people trying to take care of you.”

“They all wanted something from me.”

Peter considered that.  “I’m not going to deny I want something from you.  I want you to contribute to my team, and that’s going to be good for my career.  But it’s tied into wanting something _for_ you.  I want you to have a better life, to have the stability and sense of accomplishment that comes from being on the right side of the law.”

“You’re different,” said Neal.  “I’m not sure what it is about you.  But for the first time, instead of having a father figure imposed on me, I actually picked one.”

“It was a joke,” Peter said, remembering when Neal first introduced him as his stepdad in St. Louis.

“That’s what I thought at the time.  But now I wonder.”

Peter drove in silence for a while before saying, “I’m honored.  And kind of scared.  I don’t know the first thing about being a father figure.”

“Don’t worry.  Just think of it this way: it would be hard for me to get any more messed up than I already am.  That gives you a lot of leeway.”

“I wouldn’t call you messed up.  You have a lot going for you.”

Neal shrugged.  “Seriously, though.  Don’t worry about me.  I’m an adult and I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.  What you did tonight, inviting me over to your house, that was nice, but I didn’t need it.”

“You weren’t fooled for a minute?”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you call me out on it?”

“I was curious about what you were doing, and why.  I was curious about your life outside of work, too.  And…”

“And what?” Peter asked.

“It was kind of you, trying to give me an evening like that.”

“You didn’t want to hurt my feelings by telling me I failed in my attempt to con you.”  When Neal didn’t answer, Peter continued, “You don’t have to lie to me.  I’d rather know the truth than have someone try to spare my feelings.”

“Withholding information isn’t the same as a lie.”

“You pretended something false was true.  That’s hard to distinguish from a lie.”

“You lied about why you wanted me to have dinner at your house.”

“Good point,” Peter conceded.  “And I owe you some truth now.  I understand you don’t want people to worry about you, but you don’t make that easy.  For one thing, you have those repressed memories you won’t deal with, and who knows what might happen when they’re triggered.  On top of that, I worry about the lengths you’ll go to, to make people happy.  Like misleading me tonight, or maybe doing an end-run around the law for one of your friends.  Will you promise me, if you’re tempted to do something illegal for a friend, that you’ll come to me first?  Give me a chance to help you find a legal alternative.”

“I’m not used to turning to other people for help.”

“And why is that?” Peter asked.

“A lot of people in my life haven’t been very reliable.”

“You can rely on me, Neal.  When I first started working cases at the FBI, I got the nickname _The Archaeologist_ , because I wouldn’t stop digging.  I wouldn’t give up.  And I don’t plan to give up on you.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t the promise Peter had asked for, but at least it wasn’t an outright refusal.  If he wanted Neal to be honest with him, he had to accept that trust came with time, even if he would rather hear immediate assurances that Neal would do as Peter had asked.

The mansion was dark when Peter parked. Neal seemed all right now, but Peter wondered if more nightmares awaited and he asked, “You meditate?”

“What?  No.”

“You look like someone who meditates.  What do you do to unwind?”

“Paint.  Swim.  Run.  There are some parks around here that are great for running.”

“Yeah?  How about I meet you at one of them tomorrow morning?”

Neal smiled.  “You think you can keep up with me?”

“Hey, I’m in the prime of my life, and in excellent shape.”

“That’s not what I meant.  Yeah, I’ll run with you.  This should be interesting.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They started out keeping an easy pace Saturday morning, but about ten minutes into the run Neal sprinted ahead.  When Peter picked up speed to catch up, he outpaced Neal to show he could, then looked back to find no sign of Neal.

_That’s_ what he’d meant about keeping up.  Neal wanted to lead him on the chase they’d never had, since they had offered immunity.  Peter used his training in tracking suspects to keep Neal in sight.  After a while he saw Neal back away from a hiding place and trip over an old tree root.  He rolled into the fall, but ended up leaning against the tree and grasping his ankle.  Looked like he’d twisted it.  That was going to mean a painful walk home.  Peter made his way into the clearing, saying, “That’s not how I wanted to catch you.”  But Neal was gone.  The injury had been a hoax, and Peter had fallen for it.  “Damn, he’s good,” Peter muttered before resuming the chase.

When Peter was starting to feel winded, Neal stepped out from behind a hedge.  “You ready to call this a draw?” Neal asked.

“I think we should,” Peter agreed.

On the walk back toward the mansion, Neal’s phone buzzed, and he ignored it.  A minute later it buzzed again.  This time he pulled it out and read his text messages.  He smiled, then glanced toward Peter and sobered.

“What is it?” Peter asked.

“Remember when I said that any trouble Henry got into was Shawn’s fault?”

“Yeah.  You called Shawn a _force of chaos_ rather than a criminal.  Just what the hell does that even mean?”

“You know those mythological trickster gods, like Coyote?”

“I refuse to believe this Shawn person is supernatural.”

“I’m not saying he is.  Just hear me out.”  Neal stopped next to Peter’s car.  “Over the course of your life, you meet a lot of people you’d call mischievous.  But occasionally, you come across someone truly exceptional.  Someone whose talents for mischief are legendary.  And I think they’re the ones who inspired those myths.”

“I also remember I said you need to tell me if this force of chaos re-entered your life.  Were those texts from him?”

“He’s in New York.”

“Is he going to cause trouble?”

“Nothing malicious, or illegal.  He just wants to see me tonight.”

Peter leaned against his car.  “Great.  I can’t wait to meet him.”

“No.  You aren’t going with me to a club on a Saturday night.”

“I like clubbing.”

“Right.  Name one time in the last three months you’ve gone to a nightclub.”

“I’ve been busy, lately.  Recruiting you and taking over the White Collar taskforce has taken a toll on my social life.”

“Uh-huh.  I don’t need a chaperone.  I’ll see you on Monday, Peter.”

Peter let it go, but he couldn’t help wondering if Shawn’s presence meant Winslow would also be around.  He kept thinking about Winslow all weekend, and as a result he came up with an idea he knew Neal would hate.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“I’m doing what?” Neal asked after everyone else had left the Monday morning briefing.

“You’re going to spend the next thirty days doing surveillance,” Peter said.

“Why?”

“Although you did a good job undercover at the Sinclair party, it was clear you need a grounding in FBI procedures for field work.  The best way to get that –”

“Is to do field work,” Neal interrupted.

“Is to _observe_ field work, done by people who have the training you lack.  You’ll have a chance to see how it’s supposed to be done, and to ask questions about what you’ve observed.  Then, after thirty days, you’ll be ready.”

“Thomas warned me about this.  He said you’d be tempted to restrict me to desk duty for a month.”

“That was tempting,” Peter agreed.  “But this is better for you.  After thirty days of surveillance, and no flashbacks, I’ll give you another chance in the field.”

Neal wanted to protest, but decided it wasn’t the right time.  He needed to make a show of trying it Peter’s way before demanding something different.

The first day wasn’t too bad.  He didn’t actually get to the van until Monday afternoon.  The equipment was all new and fascinating.  Jones was okay to hang around with, and was willing to fill Neal in on the suspected gunrunner whose office they had bugged.  Neal had missed the part where Jones had gone in to plant the bugs, but the agent was willing to explain what he’d done that morning.

Tuesday was awful.  The gunrunner spent all morning in meetings about his import-export business, not saying anything remotely incriminating, or interesting.  Instead of Jones, Neal was stuck with Agent Hitchum, who’d had a grudge against Neal since the beginning, and who was not willing to engage in any conversation.  It was a relief when Peter arrived with lunch, even if adding a third person to the van was a bit claustrophobic. 

That afternoon, Collins called Neal to request his help fencing the book.  Neal set up a meet Wednesday at noon in a coffee shop around the corner from Hurst Collectibles.  And he was pleased with himself for promising to meet Collins in person to introduce him to the buyer.  He was going to do field work, after all.

Following the Wednesday morning briefing, he was less pleased.  “Peter, you can’t be serious.”

“I said thirty days without field work, and I meant it.  The clock starts over again on Thursday.”

It was unfair, and in retaliation, Neal left a voicemail for Mozzie before heading out to the van again.  “Mozz, are you still interested in that first edition _Paradise Lost_?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mid-morning, Peter pulled Neal from the van to prepare for the meet with Collins.  As they sat in Peter’s car, he could tell his consultant was still unhappy about having to spend another thirty days on surveillance.  Time to move on to the next part of his plan.  “Listen, Neal, I get it.  No one wants to spend thirty days working in the van.”

“It’s excessive,” Neal said.  “I don’t get why I’m being punished like this.”

“It isn’t a punishment.  It’s a learning experience.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got news for you.  I’m going to die of boredom before thirty days are up, and all of that learning will be a waste of time.”

“The first thing you need to learn is that sulking and whining aren’t the way to get what you want at the FBI.  We’re all adults, here.  If you have a problem with one of my decisions, you have to talk to me, calmly and rationally.  Explain the issue, and work with me to find a solution.”

“You mean you’d actually back off on the thirty-day thing?”

“I might be persuaded to make an adjustment.”

To Peter’s surprise, Neal didn’t ask how he might be persuaded.  Instead he leaned his head back against the headrest, closed his eyes and groaned.  Then he said, “Friday night I made a point of saying I’m an adult, and then I had to go and be childish.”  He opened his eyes and looked at Peter again, abashed. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“Why am I afraid you’re apologizing about more than just your attitude?”

“Remember that phone call I got during dinner at the Sinclair party?  It was Mozzie, telling me Benny owned a fortune in rare books.  He was particularly interested in a first edition _Paradise Lost_.  That’s how I knew it was there.”

“Did he ask you to steal it?” Peter asked.

“No, he knew I wouldn’t do that.  But this morning, when I was upset about the thirty days restarting, I left him a message that the book is changing hands at Hurst Collectibles today.”

“Neal, I’m aware that you left Mozzie out of your confession, and I was willing to overlook that because you had warned me there were a few people you felt a need to protect.  But I can’t overlook any new crimes.  If he tries to steal that book, I have to arrest him.”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but I think there’s a compromise.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At noon, Collins was waiting for Neal in the coffee shop.  They walked to Hurst Collectibles, where Neal vouched for Collins to Louisa Hurst.  When Collins placed _Paradise Lost_ on the counter and asked what Louisa would offer for it, the FBI stormed in from a back room to make the arrest.

After two agents took Collins away, Neal stepped into the alley behind the store.  “It’s safe, Mozz,” he called out.

“That’s not the code phrase,” Mozzie said from behind a dumpster.

“I don’t think you want me saying the code phrase right now,” Neal said, indicating Peter, who stood behind him.

Mozzie stood, positioned to make a run for it.  “What’s _he_ doing here?”

“You said you were interested in a first edition because there was a rumor of a code inside it.  Is that true, or was it all an excuse to set up Kate?”

“It wasn’t a set up.  Not entirely.  There are rumors of a code.”

Neal held the book up so Mozzie could see he had it.  “It has to go into evidence at the FBI, so that Collins gets what he deserves.  But I can let you borrow it, first.”

“What’s the catch?” Mozzie asked.

Peter spoke up.  “You can’t take it with you.  We’ll let you read it, in a controlled environment.  We’re going to call you an authenticator.”

“Do I get paid?” Mozzie wanted to know.

“Give me a social security number,” Peter countered, “and I might be able to pay you a fee.”

Mozzie ranted for a while about not being lured into giving any personal data to the suits.  Eventually he got into Peter’s car with them.  Peter drove back to the van, where he monitored the gunrunner while Mozzie and Neal pored over the book.

Mozzie twitched and complained over being locked in the van, but Neal knew it was a ruse.  Mozz was taking in every bit of technology the FBI had for monitoring people, and was almost gleeful at the opportunity.  They spent a few hours taking notes from the book before Mozzie closed it decisively.  “I have what I need,” he said.  “Time to get out of this government box while my soul is still intact.”  He put his coat on, and as he was about to open the door, turned to say, “Oh, and you’re wasting your time on Jimmy, there.  He’s too far down the food chain.  Quincy is the one calling the shots.”

“Wait!” Peter said.  “Quincy Tower, their in-house attorney?”

“Try running the name Quincy Watt,” Mozzie advised before he left.

Peter called in a request to the office for background on Quincy Tower and Quincy Watt.  While waiting for the results he said to Neal, “I’m glad you told me about the message you left Mozzie.”

“But you wish I hadn’t done something that impetuous.”

“One step at a time.  You let me know before it was too late, and we were able to find an acceptable solution.  That’s a win.  We’ll talk on Thursday about alternatives to spending thirty days in the van.”

Neal wanted to talk about it _now_ , but before he could say that, they got a response back from the team with preliminary information about Quincy.  Then Peter was busy coordinating approval to bug the man’s office.  Jones was constantly calling back with the name of one more form he had submitted to get that approval.  Then it was time to quit for the day.

Peter offered Neal a lift, but Neal shook his head.  He had been sending and receiving texts for the last hour, and there was something he needed to follow up on.  “I’ll see you Thursday,” he said.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter was halfway to his car when he remembered he’d left his tie in the van.  As he was backtracking, he saw Neal head into a nearby park.  He couldn’t help wondering if Neal and Mozzie were meeting to talk about something they didn’t think they could say in front of an FBI agent, and it worried him a little.

Peter watched Neal walk toward a street cart, where a vendor sold souvenirs to tourists.  There was only one customer at the cart, a man in a suit who was paying for a tiny yellow taxi.  As the vendor made change and the stranger pocketed the souvenir, Neal walked faster.  A wallet was on its way into a jacket pocket when Neal grabbed it and ran.

The move was so smooth that the vendor didn’t notice, and Peter almost didn’t catch it.  He had a hard time believing it.  Why on earth would Neal steal someone’s wallet?

The wallet’s owner ran after Neal.  Because the park sloped downward, Peter had a good vantage of the chase by simply remaining at the park entrance.  Having chased Neal through a park a few days ago himself, he had a good basis of comparison, and quickly realized that Neal and his pursuer knew each other.  They anticipated each other’s moves, making the chase more like a dance.  Furthermore, the pursuer wasn’t angry.  When Peter caught glimpses of their faces, they were laughing.  This was a game to them.

Seeing that Neal was leading the chase in a specific direction, Peter took a shortcut.  He was within earshot, but hidden behind a stand of trees, when Neal plopped down onto an iron bench facing an elaborate water fountain.  Neal handed the wallet back to its owner, who took a seat next to him.  The man was mid-to-late twenties, brown hair, too far away to guess eye color, half an inch shorter than Neal and slightly broader.  Not heavy, but bigger-boned. 

“You’re out of practice,” the man said. 

“Give me a break,” Neal answered.  “I don’t get to pickpocket anymore.  The FBI doesn’t approve.”

“You went to the club Saturday night, but didn’t stick around to talk.”

“It was too risky.”

As much as Peter wanted to eavesdrop, he knew he needed to take a more direct approach.  He owed it to Neal, especially if he wanted to retain Neal’s trust.  He stepped into the open to make them aware of his presence.  “Sorry to barge in, but I thought Neal might be in trouble.”

“A reasonable assumption, knowing Neal.”  The stranger stood up.  “You must be Agent Peter Burke.  I recognize your voice.”

Hazel eyes, Peter noticed as he approached the fountain, filling in a missing detail of the description he’d been mentally logging.  “And you’re Henry Winslow.”


	14. Big Brother

**A New York City park.  January 7, 2004 – Wednesday evening.**

Neal watched as Henry and Peter sized each other up.  He would rather have avoided letting them meet, but he had to play the hand he was dealt.  “The stare down is impressive,” he said, “but it’s getting dark.  I vote we take this indoors.  Preferably someplace with food.”

“There’s a sports bar –” Peter started.

“There’s a pizza place –” Henry said at the same time.

“Right.  Irish pub it is.  Follow me.”  Neal took off, hoping they would follow rather than stand around arguing about where to eat.  But he knew there was a good chance their mutual love of arguing would win out.

“Why’d you want him to take your wallet?” Peter’s voice came from behind.  Good, they were following.

“It was a test.  He was in the hospital a week ago.  I should ask how he’s doing, but I know he’ll say _fine_ no matter what.  This way I could see for myself that he’s still physically and mentally able to keep up.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Peter said.  Neal wasn’t sure he wanted Peter to learn these tricks. 

“ _That’s_ why you came to New York?” Neal turned around to ask.  “It wasn’t anything about Shawn having plans here?”

Henry shrugged.  “I can multitask.”

“I’d like to meet Shawn,” Peter said.  “Can he join us?”

“No,” said Henry.

“Not gonna happen,” added Neal, as he opened the door to the pub.

They were seated in a booth, with Peter and Henry taking opposite sides.  Neal slid in next to Henry and ordered wine, while they selected beer.  When they had drinks in hand and food ordered, they really started to talk.  Henry kicked off the conversation with, “How do you like working for the FBI, Neal?”

Neal stared at his wine glass as he answered, “It’s great.”

“Not as enthusiastic as the last time we talked,” Henry said.

“Are you _trying_ to make this awkward?” Neal asked.  “Because if so, you’re doing a fantastic job.”

“Neal,” said Peter, his voice full of authority.  Sometimes he really did sound like a dad.

Neal sighed, and reluctantly met Peter’s eyes.  “Thirty days, Peter.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be happy about that.  You’re right, it’s excessive.  I choose something that long as a starting point, to negotiate down once you were ready.”

“You want something from him,” Henry said.   

“I want to make sure he’s safe,” Peter countered.  “And honestly, I’m concerned that you might be a bad influence.  Something he definitely does not need if he’s going to turn his life around.”

“I’m a bad influence?  Are you kidding me?  He wouldn’t have survived past his teens if it weren’t for me.”

Neal said, “True, but you were still a bad influence.” 

“I taught you important life skills.”

“Like picking pockets, picking locks, hotwiring cars.”

“Like playing poker, reading your opponents and bluffing.”

“Like card tricks and sleight-of-hand.”

“Who doesn’t love a good card trick?” Henry asked.  “And I introduced you to Shawn.  What more could a teenage runaway ask for?”

“Good point,” Neal said.

“That brings us back to what I wanted from you, Neal,” Peter said.  He raised his beer mug in Henry’s direction.  “I wanted you to tell me about him. I wanted to know enough to be sure he isn’t going to endanger either you or your deal with the FBI.”  

Henry put down his own mug and leaned back in the booth.  He crossed his arms and asked, “What does Neal get in exchange for information about me?”

“His assignment of thirty days of surveillance work in the van will be reduced.”

Henry glanced at Neal, “How badly do you want this?”

Neal shrugged.  “It’s no big deal.  I can handle it.”

Henry studied Neal a moment before returning his attention to Peter.  “What do you want to know, Agent Burke?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Neal insisted.

“Yeah, yeah.  You can take care of yourself.  I get it.  But your boss here is determined to take care of you by protecting you from me, and I’ve already told him I’ll protect you from him.  We need to get this over with, or you’re always going to be stuck in the middle, trying to please us both.”

Peter frowned.  “I get information.  Neal avoids something he dislikes.  What do you get out of this?”

“You’ll be surprised how much I get.”  Henry turned to Neal, “What have you told him, so far?”

“Our mothers were best friends growing up.  You were there when the Marshals took us away from D.C.  And about Vegas, how I started borrowing your identity.  That’s all.”

“There was something else,” Peter said.  “In the hospital in New Haven, you called Henry the alternate you.  You said he’s who you would have been, if your father hadn’t gotten into trouble.”

Henry toasted Neal.  “They gave you the good drugs, didn’t they?  Fire away, Agent Burke.”

“Tell me something about you that Neal doesn’t know.”

“How much time out of the van are you giving for this question?”

“Depends on how good the answer is.”

Neal watched as Henry thought through his options and finally said, “Robert blackmailed me into joining the family business last year.”

“The bonds I forged?” Neal asked.

Henry nodded.  “He wouldn’t give the evidence to the cops if I agreed to stay for at least three years.”

“Damn it, Henry.  I’d rather have done time.”  Neal rested his head in his hands a moment, hating to face the friend who had made such a sacrifice for him. Then a thought occurred to him and he looked up again.  “But I have immunity for those bonds now.  You can quit.” 

Henry smiled a particularly grim smile.  “Not yet.  I have a plan to turn the tables on Robert.”

Neal had a bad feeling about this.  “What have you done?”

“Don’t worry.  Everything’s under control, now.”  Henry turned his attention to Peter.  “How much time did that gain?”

“First I need to confirm you followed the rules.  Neal, did you know Winslow had been blackmailed into taking the job?”

It took more effort than he liked to admit to maintain a poker face.  Ever since Neal had introduced Peter as his stepfather, the man had remained locked in the part of Neal’s mind that belonged to the ideal of _dad_.  For a month, Neal had managed to hide the fact that he couldn’t tell a direct lie to Peter.  He trusted Peter, but didn’t like the thought of anyone having that kind of power over him. 

“Neal,” Peter said, “you immediately knew how Winslow had been blackmailed.  That makes me think you weren’t surprised to hear it happened.”

Neal sighed.  “It had crossed my mind, when Henry first took the job.”  He shrugged at his friend.  “I didn’t know, but after all the times you’d said you’d never work for them, I wondered how they convinced you.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Henry caught the waiter’s eye and gestured for another beer.  “I knew you’d decide it was your fault, when the blame all lies with Robert.  Listen, Neal.  It’s worked out for the best.  I’m good at this work, and I enjoy it.  The only downside is who I work for, and that’s going to change if we’re patient.  I know what I’m doing.  You have to trust me.”  He paused as the new beer arrived.  “But let’s focus on tonight.  You couldn’t just tell your boss here that you didn’t know about the blackmail?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

Henry looked at Neal intensely for a moment, enough to let Neal know that he would insist on returning to this issue later.  But he simply said to Peter, “How much time did I earn?”

“One day,” Peter said.  “Next question is about Christmas.  When Neal went to D.C., he told me he wouldn’t run into any Caffreys there because they were spending the holidays in New York.  He said you told him about their plans.  I assume you knew through your mother, who stayed in contact with the family even after Neal and his mother disappeared.”

“I don’t hear a question,” Henry said.  “Are you asking me to confirm your speculation?”

Peter refused to be rushed or rattled.  “I want to know how and where you spent Christmas Eve through the twenty-seventh of December.  The more pertinent details, the more time you win back.  But if you waste my time, then I’ll be less generous.”

Neal had to be impressed.  Peter had deduced that Henry could fill in the gaps that Neal had left by telling Peter only what he’d done on Christmas Day.  The fact that Peter would select this as one of his questions showed that he really was worried about what Neal had been up to over that long weekend.

Henry asked, “Will you add time on if I annoy you, or if I refuse to answer a question?”

“No, that wouldn’t be fair to Neal.  I’m not going to punish him for having annoying friends.”

“Thank you,” Neal had to say, not only out of gratitude, but also to give Henry more time to think through his answer.

“My parents are divorced,” Henry said.  “I spent Christmas Eve with one side of the family, and Christmas Day with the other.  You wouldn’t find the details pertinent.  On the morning of the twenty-sixth I caught a flight to D.C., and hung out with Neal for two days.”

“Doing what?” Peter asked.

Neal held his breath.

“I can’t tell you that,” Henry said.  “The rules are: you ask questions about me, and only about me.  I’m not going to provide information about Neal that he has decided not to share.”

Neal exhaled.

Peter frowned.  “But my interest in you is related to how you interact with and influence Neal.”

“Not my problem.  You’ll have to be smarter about your questions.  How much time did I win back?”

“An hour.  You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already suspect.”  Peter paused in his questioning as the waiter delivered their food.  Peter had ordered a steak, Neal had the salmon, and Henry had the corned beef.  As they ate, Peter talked to Henry about sports, learning he was a fan of baseball, football, and soccer.  But Henry’s favorite teams didn’t center around any specific city or even a region of the country to help Peter narrow down where he lived.  He also confessed to being a fan of curling, which surprised a laugh out of Neal.

“Seriously?” he asked.  “When did that happen?”

“Last winter Olympics,” Henry said.  “How could I not love something that bizarre?  It speaks to me.”

Neal met Peter’s eyes, and saw he was equally amused.

“For that, you win another day,” Peter said.  “How did you learn to pick pockets and locks and hotwire cars, and how have you stayed in practice?”

“Back to business, are we?  If I tell you that, I want a week.”

“If it’s a good answer,” Peter said, “your total, including the two days and one hour you’ve already won, will be a week.”

“There’s a tradition, on my dad’s side of the family:  the men are supposed to start their career either in the military or the police force, and then they join the family business.  My dad was a cop.”

“ _Alternate me_ ,” Peter said.  “Both of your dads were cops.”

“Yeah, the parallels are scary, aren’t they?  Mine was a straight arrow, though.  He attributed much of his success to learning how criminals worked.  As part of that, he mastered skills like picking locks.  And because he expected me to follow in his footsteps, he started teaching me those same skills around the time I turned ten.  My parents divorced when I was sixteen.  It was bitter and ugly, and I blamed my dad for a lot of that.  Mom said he put his job ahead of his family, and I agreed.  I decided not to follow the Winslow family tradition, and he was madder than hell about that.  To escape all of the drama, I took extra classes and summer school, and finished high school a year early.  Then I went out of state for college, and studied psychology for three years.” 

“Did you graduate early again?” Peter asked.

“No, something happened that I’m not going to go into.  It meant dropping out of school and going under the radar.  By then my dad was working for the family business and had access to a frightening array of resources for tracking people down.  I had to be creative.  Once in a while I hotwired cars from large fleets or auto dealerships to travel.  I broke into abandoned buildings for shelter, and conned hotel desk clerks into thinking I had a reservation.  When I saw someone flashing a lot of money, I’d pick his wallet and then run after him to return it, saying I’d seen him drop it; usually the mark would see all his cash was still there and be grateful enough to give me a big reward.  That’s how I kept in practice with some less savory skills.  Eventually I made a deal with my dad, that I’d call in once a month to let everyone know I was okay, and in return they got me off the missing persons list and didn’t use company resources to track me down.  With that pressure off my back, I turned to Shawn for more legal alternatives for survival.”

“It’s still hard to believe you work for them now,” Neal said.

“They needed to be shaken up a little,” Henry said.  “I’m the perfect person to do that.  And their resources are coming in handy, to make sure the FBI doesn’t take advantage of you.”

“You weren’t exaggerating about that?” Peter asked.

“No.  We really out-do Big Brother when it comes to data.  Did I earn that week out of the van?”

Peter nodded.  “That was very informative.  Next question: where did you stay while you were in D.C. the twenty-sixth & twenty-seventh of December?”

Neal could see the change in direction took Henry by surprise.  “Our…”  Henry started, paused, and then said, “You know my mother came from D.C.  Her parents still live there.  I stayed at their house.”

“Were they there?” Peter asked.

“No, but I have a key.”

“Did you use it?”

Henry grinned.  “I like to stay in practice.  No, I didn’t use the key to get in, but afterward I did give them a few suggestions for improving their security.  Did that win another day out of the van?”

“A half day,” Peter said.  “When we spoke on the phone, you said if Neal were arrested it would _ruin everything._   What did you mean by that?”

Neal didn’t know about that comment, and couldn’t guess the reason behind it.  He looked at Henry for the answer.

“I mentioned I’m turning the tables on Robert.  I made a counter deal that if I stick with the family business for five years, I can open my own branch in New York.  I can hire anyone I want.  But at Robert’s suggestion they tagged on what they’re calling a ‘morals clause’ that says I can’t associate with a convicted felon for ten years from my start of employment.  If Neal’s arrested and convicted, I can’t communicate with him until early 2013.  Robert was sure you’d self-destruct and that clause would keep you away from me and the company.”

“Why would you agree to that?” Neal asked.  “And why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.  I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to last there five years, myself.  But it’s working out better than I expected.  Think about it.  Our own branch.  We could run it our way, and the experience you’re getting at the FBI is icing on the cake.”

“Maybe I won’t want to leave the FBI four years from now,” Neal said.

“You don’t have to.  But you’ll have options, this way.  Could you have imagined, a year ago, having two legal employment options open to you?”

“What I can imagine,” Neal said, “is you getting your own branch four years from now, and you and Peter having an epic argument about who’s the better boss.  This whole father figure versus big brother feud is never going to end.  Maybe I should put an end to this and return to a life of crime.”

“No!” both Peter and Henry exclaimed.

Neal grinned.  “You have something in common, after all.  How much time out of the van did Henry win?”

“Two more days,” Peter said. 

The waiter left the bill on their table.  Peter and Henry both grabbed for it.  They were launching into an argument about who would pay when Neal asked, “Will you take it down to fifteen days in the van if Henry tells you how and why he found me when I ran away?”

That distracted them both from noticing that Neal put his own credit card on the check and slid it to the edge of the table for the waiter to pick up.

“You trust Burke not to turn in our mothers for their less than legal behavior?” Henry asked.

“Peter?” Neal asked.

The agent took a deep breath, took out his badge and placed it upside down on the table.  “I’m just a guy listening to a story in a pub.  A story from a stranger I don’t necessarily trust.  It would be irresponsible of me to take his word about any alleged crimes.”

Henry raised his mug in a toast to Peter.  “I’m starting to like you, Agent Burke.”  When he put the mug down again he said, “According to the rules, Neal’s mom shouldn’t have had any contact with family or friends after she was relocated.  But once a year, around Christmas, she would find a way to call my mom.”

“Wouldn’t that have been difficult?” Peter asked.  “People are busy that time of year and often travel over the holidays.  Why not call at a less frenzied, less obvious time?”

“Sentimentality,” Henry said.  “It was their birthday.  My mom, Noelle, was born Christmas Eve.  Meredith was born Christmas Day.  More of those scary parallels I mentioned.”

“You’ve crossed from scary to unbelievable,” Peter said.

Neal decided it was time to tell Peter one of the secrets he’d been holding on to.  “They were sisters.  Twins.  One born in the last minutes of the twenty-fourth, and the other in the first minutes of the twenty-fifth.  They weren’t going to let something minor like the law or danger keep them apart.”

“You’re cousins.”  Peter looked at them both closely.  “Yeah, I can see it.  Similar noses.  Same obnoxious grin.  I’ll bet Winslow’s hair gets wavy when it grows as long as yours.  Okay.  The twins talk at Christmas.  How does that lead to you meeting again?”

“When I was fourteen,” Henry continued, “my dad figured out that they were keeping in touch.  It led to a big fight, Dad being on the law-and-order side while Mom was on the twins-won’t-be-separated side.  Afterward I found a box of old photo albums and documents Mom never pulled out when anyone was around.  There were pictures of Meredith and Neal, and it triggered some memories.  For all of the training my dad had pushed on me, it was the first time I’d shown any interest in solving a mystery.  When my dad found me going through the box, he was thrilled.  He decided it was time to make his move from cop to the family business.”

“Where he had access to those resources you keep mentioning.”

“Exactly.  He tracked the phone numbers Meredith had called us from over the years, and could tell she was in the St. Louis area.  He’d bring me to the office, where we did searches on human interest stories about elementary schools, churches, boy scouts, all kind of things in that area.  When we found photos of classes or choirs or other groups of children, we’d look for a boy who sort of resembled me.  Eventually we landed on Danny Brooks as the most likely match.  He had a single mother who was the right age and who had moved to St. Louis at the right time.  For my dad it was all an exercise in detection and deduction.  He didn’t care what we found.  What he cared about was that I kept returning to do more research.  Over the next two years, up until the divorce and dropping out of my dad’s life, I found a lot of stuff about Danny.  When I came across the hospital records and court records, I didn’t tell anyone.”  Henry turned to Neal.  “I regret that, now.  Maybe if he’d known…”

“I can’t imagine Robert would have done anything differently,” Neal said.  “He’s not into pity, and I don’t want it.  Can you fast forward a few years?  I don’t want to dwell on the whole abuse thing.  It’s getting old.”  As soon as Neal said it, he regretted it.  He knew Peter wouldn’t let it go.

As expected, Peter chimed in with, “Henry, as Neal’s friend – as his family and his emergency contact – you should know he’s been having flashbacks to that time.  Three in the last month.”

“That’s not fair,” Neal protested.  “Two of those times I was drugged, and the other time I was hurt.  There were exceptional circumstances that won’t occur again.  I’m fine.”

“I didn’t know you were hurt,” Henry said.  “When was this?”

“It was just a sprain.  I’m not going to call you about every minor injury.  Hell, you want an update next time I get a paper cut or come down with a cold?”

“You wouldn’t be this touchy about it, normally.  Something about the sprain was traumatic.  Burke, can you tell me what happened?”

“It was an accident,” Neal insisted.

“It was my fault,” Peter said.

“No, it was Hitchum,” Neal corrected. 

“Neal.”  Peter paused and waited for Neal to meet his eyes. Then he said, “Shut up.”  While Neal dealt with the surprise of that order, Peter said, “When Neal joined my team, I wanted to make the point that I wouldn’t tolerate any illegal behavior.  We staged a mock arrest when I realized Neal had used your identity to travel back to New York, and one of my agents got too rough.  I didn’t realize Neal had been hurt.  When Neal couldn’t hide the sprain anymore, it became apparent he thought I knew, that he thought I’d ordered Hitchum to do it to make my point.  Believe me,” Peter held up a hand to stave off the comments it was obvious Henry was about to make, “I’ve seen the error of my ways.  I’ve apologized and made my team aware that I made a big mistake in kicking off that chain events.  The point is, it triggered a flashback.  And despite my best efforts, I can’t convince Neal to talk to anyone about it.”

Henry was about to respond when the waiter returned with Neal’s credit card.  “Hey!  Who said you could pay?” Henry asked.

“I picked the venue,” Neal said, putting away the card and pulling over the check to calculate the tip.  He was grateful for the interruption.  “Stay focused.  You were supposed to describe how you found me.”

“I’ll stay focused,” Henry retorted.  “You thought your latest father figure had caused you to be hurt, which then led you to flashback to your mom’s old boyfriend beating you up, and you think I’m going to ignore it?”

“Armchair psychologist,” Neal accused.  “I told you: exceptional circumstances.  I’m fine.”

“Right,” Henry said.  “You’re fine.  Meanwhile you’re scaring the hell out of the rest of us.”

“Observing one little flashback did not traumatize Peter,” Neal insisted.

“Observing three of them might have,” Peter said.  “I’m worried about what I might say, or what might happen in the next case that will trigger another one.  Especially if there’s a gun involved.  That’s another reason for keeping you in the van awhile.”

“Great.  Now father figure and big brother are ganging up on me.  How many times do I have to tell you I’m fine?”

“Telling me doesn’t help.  Show me,” Henry said.  “Prove you’re both fine.”

“Both?” Neal repeated.

“Your past father figures haven’t been good for you.  At all.  When I see you’ve collected another one, I worry.  Show me I don’t have to worry about either of you.”

“How?” Neal asked.

“I want to try an experiment.  If you get through it and don’t have any flashbacks or nightmares tonight, I’ll believe you’re fine.”

“Wait,” Peter protested.  “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Afraid of the truth, Agent Burke?  I think you should be aware of how dangerous you are to Neal’s psyche.  Being a father figure is no joke.”

When Henry set his mind on something, he was a force to be reckoned with.  Neal knew from experience that it was easier to play along, find out what Henry had in mind, and then argue with him.

Peter dove straight into arguing.  “This is insane.  Neal, I can’t believe you’re okay with this guy messing with your head.  _Armchair psychologist_ , you keep calling him.  He doesn’t even have a degree.”

“Of course I have a degree,” Henry said. 

“You dropped out of college at twenty.”

“Yeah, but I only had a year left.  I finished up that degree eventually, and then got a masters.”

“I helped,” Neal offered.

“You…”  Peter looked confused.  “You helped with what?”

“I helped with his master’s degree.  Really, every con artist should study psychology.  It’s amazing what you can learn.”

Henry rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, you have amazing insight into everyone but yourself.  Now obviously we can’t do this here. Can we run the experiment at your place, Neal, or do we have to go to Agent Burke’s home?”

“I want home field advantage,” Peter said.

“It’s settled then,” Henry said. “We’ll grab a change of clothes and spend the night at your place.”

“Whoa.  What?  Spend the night?”  Peter asked.

“I’m monitoring for nightmares.  Those generally happen when people are asleep.  At night.  I want you both present to confirm my results.  That way you’ll know I’m not making up or exaggerating anything.  Neal, my car is about a block away. I can take you by your place to pack.  Do you know where Burke lives?”  Henry was about as stoppable as a tsunami.

“Yeah, I’ve been there,” Neal confirmed.

“What are we waiting for?” Henry asked.  “Let’s move.”

Neal rode the wave, knowing patience was his best approach.  Peter seemed swept away.  As Henry was bustling Neal toward his rental car, Neal called out a warning to Peter, “You might want to call Elizabeth.”

The last thing Neal heard from Peter was swearing, as the agent realized he was about to surprise his wife with two overnight guests.


	15. Nightmares: the Set Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in psychology, and the scenes that follow were constructed for dramatic effect rather than accuracy. Don’t try this at home. If you’re experiencing flashbacks, seek professional help. 
> 
> If you’ve read the first 14 chapters of this story, you know this version of Neal was abused as a child. Further detail will be revealed here. Proceed with caution if that hits your buttons

**Neal’s apartment, New York City.  January 7, 2004 – Wednesday evening.**

When Neal and Henry arrived, the Ellingtons’ home was dark.  June had said she wanted to take Byron out to a movie if he felt up to it.  Even in his rush to make sure everyone followed his plan, Henry had to pause when they stepped inside the mansion and turned on the lights.  Neal enjoyed the look of awe on his cousin’s face.

“You live here?”  Henry asked.  “This is better than the Ambassador’s house.”

“Home sweet home.  Right up these stairs.  Speaking of which, why are you carrying your luggage in here, if we’re staying at Peter’s house?”

“I don’t need all of this for an overnight stay.  I left the smaller bag in the car.”

“And why are you bringing the larger bag upstairs?”

“Well, obviously I’m staying with you tomorrow night through the weekend.  I’ve already checked out of my hotel.”

Neal had learned through long experience that his best bet was to keep asking, “Why?”

“I’ve finished the business portion of this trip.  The company won’t pay for any more nights at a hotel, but I want to stick around awhile.”

“Why?”

“To see where you live, how you’re doing.”  Henry paused as they reached the door to Neal’s apartment, and Neal opened it.  “Nice.  I love the view.  And also,” he said, returning to what he’d been saying before, “you know Robert hates it when I drop off the radar.  No hotel, no credit card charges, no way to spy on me.”

“He also hates it when you call him Robert.”

“I only do it when he’s working, or when he’s being a jerk.”

“Which is most of the time,” Neal said.

“Exactly.  Then once in a blue moon I call him _Dad_ and it totally freaks him out.  Last time he asked if I was dying.  Did I see a piano downstairs?”

Neal finished placing clothing into an overnight bag and headed toward the bathroom for a toothbrush and razor.  “Yeah.”  A minute later he was back, closing the bag.  “And I still play better than you.”

They kept up that old argument on the way back to the car.  Henry didn’t ask for directions the Burke’s townhouse, which didn’t surprise Neal.  He knew Henry would have already researched Peter Burke and learned his address.  His question back at the bar had been meant to learn if Neal had been invited to the Burke residence before today.

The entrance to the Burke home was tight, with two people removing their coats, Satchmo trying to greet them, and Peter checking in on them.  They couldn’t help bumping into each other.  Neal barely noticed Henry taking their phones and watches.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Elizabeth Burke did not completely understand why Neal and his cousin Henry would be spending the night.  She wasn’t convinced that Peter knew either.  He seemed divided between wanting to observe them, and dreading whatever they had planned.

Almost as soon as the two young men arrived, it was clear Peter wanted to pull Neal into a private conversation.  El accommodatingly engaged Henry in a discussion.  “Peter said you’re some kind of psychologist?”

“You could call that a part of my role.”  Henry glanced back at Peter and Neal as they sat on the sofa.  He didn’t seem at all annoyed at being excluded from their conversation.  In fact, he looked satisfied.  When he returned his attention to El he said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Neal, but I’m worried about him.  I can tell he hasn’t been sleeping well.  His energy level is too low.  What I have in mind for this evening should tire him out, him and Peter both, in fact.  The best thing for them would be to go straight to bed as soon as we’re done.  Since it gets dark early this time of year, I think we can convince them it’s later than it actually is, and they’ll go along when we tell them it’s time to turn in.  Can you help me with that?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“If there are clocks on the stove or microwave, turn them off.  If there are alarm clocks in the bedrooms, make them hard to see.  Maybe put something in front of them, or turn them around.”  Henry took off his watch and slid it into a pocket.  “I won’t let them check their watches.  Make sure they don’t see yours.”  He glanced around the living room.  The TV remote already blocked the view of the time displayed on the DVR. 

“I’ll deal with the kitchen appliances, first, and then take care of the bedrooms.  Would you like something to drink?”

“Maybe.  If we can avoid caffeine and alcohol.  I don’t want to keep them awake, and I don’t want them buzzed, either.”

“I have decaf coffee.  Let them think they’re getting caffeine, and then when they still feel tired they’ll assume it’s getting late.”

Henry smiled.  “I like the way you think.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Any idea what he’s up to?” Peter asked Neal, as Winslow started talking to El.

“He didn’t tell me his plans.  He likes to keep his cards close to his chest, and then amaze everyone with his big reveal.”

Peter raised a brow.

“Okay.  I might do that myself, occasionally.”

“You’re part of a team now, Neal.  You’re supposed to share your insights with the FBI, and work with us on planning what to do next.”

This time Neal raised a brow.  “Are you going to tell me you never give in to the temptation to show off?”

Peter tried to look stern, but couldn’t quite pull it off.  Instead he laughed.  “You got me.  Yes, sometimes I’ll wait to confirm I’m right about a hunch before sharing it with the team.”  He watched Winslow follow El into the kitchen.  “You trust him?”

“He’s not going to steal the silverware or try to seduce Elizabeth, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean whatever he has planned for you tonight.  Do you think he might hurt you, even unintentionally?”

“No.  Henry’s a chess player.  He was quiet for most of the drive over here, which means he was thinking through his strategy and options, a good ten moves out, at least.  When he decides to mess with people’s heads in a serious way, he doesn’t take chances.”

“You know he wants to mess with your head, and you’re okay with it?”

Neal shrugged.  “About ninety percent okay with it.  The first ninety percent of what he does here tonight will be the set up, and the last ten percent will be the trap.  I’ve spent enough time with him to recognize the signs that he’s setting the trap.  If I don’t want to fall into it, I’ll still have time to walk away.”

Winslow returned from the kitchen before Peter could ask more questions.  “Elizabeth is making coffee.  We’ll get started soon.  Neal, I left something in the trunk of the car.  Would you mind getting it for me?”  He tossed Neal a set of car keys.

Neal rolled his eyes.  “And this is why you parked three blocks away.  Yes, I’ll leave you alone with Peter to talk about something you don’t want me to hear.  What’s in the trunk?”

“My guitar.”

“Seriously?  You think you’re going to need your guitar tonight?”

“You never know.”

Satchmo followed Neal to the entrance.  “Is it okay to take Satch?”

“Go ahead,” Peter said.

When Neal had the leash on the dog and was on his way out, Winslow took a seat on the chair across from Peter and said, “You know you’re a father figure to him.  What I haven’t figured out is if you think of him as a son.”

Peter narrowed his eyes as he considered Winslow’s comment.  “I don’t see the distinction.  If I feel like a father figure toward Neal, then that implies he seems like a son.”

“Does it?”

“Stop beating around the bush and make your point, if you have one.”

Winslow crossed his feet at the ankles and leaned back further in his chair, making a show of being relaxed and in charge.  “Has he ever called you _Dad_?”

“Yeah, a few times.  As a joke.”

“And you were okay with that?”

Peter kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table, purposely mirroring Winslow’s casual confidence.  “I am.”

“And have you ever called him _Son_?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s different.”  Peter paused.  El would be better at this conversation.  He knew there was an important point to be made, but he couldn’t find the words to explain it.  “Neal is…  If I said…”  He gave up.  “Calling him _Son_ is different than being called _Dad_.”

“Neal’s more emotional than you are,” Winslow said.

“I…  I guess so,” Peter said, unsure where this was headed.  “At least outwardly.  The Burke men are a stoic lot.”

“I see.  You don’t call Neal _Son_ because you’re reserved.  But you don’t mind being called _Dad_.  You like it, even if you won’t show it?”

“I show it,” Peter protested.  “I told him I’m honored.  And a little scared.  He knows I take it seriously.”

“You don’t think Neal would like to be called _Son_?”

“That’s…”  Peter struggled with the answer.  “He might.”

“Why are you withholding something you think he would like?  Is there something he has to do first to deserve it?”

“No!  I wouldn’t treat him like that.”

Winslow shrugged.  “If you say so.”

Peter frowned.  “You don’t think…  I mean he’s not…  He’d say something if…  No, this is crazy.  He knows how I felt about being chosen as a father figure.  He knows it works both ways.”

“Of course he does.  He’s a smart guy.  You don’t have to spell things out for him.”

“Right.  Like how he knew you sent him to the car so he wouldn’t hear this conversation.”

“Exactly,” Winslow said.  “Not that you would mind if he heard.”

Somehow Peter thought it was good Neal hadn’t heard the conversation, and then he tried to put his finger on why.  Neal wouldn’t be hurt by the fact Peter wasn’t ready to call him _Son_ , right?  There was absolutely no reason to feel guilty about that.

“Where’s Neal?” El asked as she carried three mugs of coffee into the living room.

“He’ll be back in a minute,” Winslow said, as he stood up.  “Here, do you want this chair?”

“No,” El said.  “I’m going to take a shower and change into pajamas while you guys do your thing.  I’ll be back down in a while.”

“I didn’t realize it was getting that late,” Peter said.  He started to turn his wrist to check his watch, but Henry stopped him. 

“Try not to check the time while we’re doing this.  I don’t want Neal to think we’re in a hurry, or feel any pressure to rush.  Let it take as long as it takes.”

El gave Peter a quick kiss.  “I’ll be down in a bit.”  She headed for the stairs.

Before Peter could ask what Winslow had in mind for tonight, Neal and Satchmo were back with the guitar.

“Oh, that looks interesting,” El said, before going upstairs.

Neal placed the guitar case against a bookcase and returned to his place on the sofa beside Peter.  He glanced at the mugs.  “Coffee?”

“It’s going to be a long night,” Winslow said.  “Try to stay alert.”

“What did I miss?” Neal asked.

“We were talking about father figures,” his cousin said.  “Back in the pub I mentioned that your past father figures haven’t been stellar.  What do you think they had in common?”

Neal took a sip of the coffee before answering.  “They wanted something from me.  And sometimes I’ve wondered…  Did they see something of themselves in me?  Something of their own greed or…  or evil?”

Peter would have objected, but Winslow beat him to it.  “I’d say it’s the other way around.  They saw something in you that was missing in themselves.  Intelligence, and talent, and decency.”

Neal shook his head.  “They were all intelligent.”

“Not as bright as you, though,” Winslow said.  “No,” he said, before Neal could argue, “it’s obvious they thought you were brighter and that made them resentful enough to mistreat you.  But that’s something we can cover another day.  Let’s focus on what makes Peter different from them.”

“That’s easy.  Even though they tried to play the role of father figure, it wasn’t real for them.  None of them were family men.  Vance, Clarence, Robert and Vincent were all divorced.  And while they all wanted something from me, I never wanted more than approval or praise from them.  Peter is the only one of them who has something I want to emulate.  He has the whole picket-fence thing going on.  House, family, dog, and a job as a professional good guy.  Everything that was my dream as a kid.  When I ran away, I thought I had to give that dream up.  For a long time I thought it was all a lie, that no one really had that.  Eventually I thought it might exist, but not for me.”

“You _can_ have that,” Peter insisted.  “You have so much potential.  If you can manage to stay on the right path, you can do amazing things.  It was obvious, from the moment we talked in that bar in St. Louis, that you have a lot of good in you.  There you were, intending to rob a museum, and still your first instinct was to help me.  You sacrificed your share of the take because you thought I was in danger, and I was immediately impressed by the decency and intelligence your cousin mentioned.  If I can foster the good in you, help you realize your full potential, that would be incredibly rewarding.”

Neal stared into his coffee mug.  “Thanks, Peter.  That means a lot to me.”  He looked up almost shyly.  “I’ll try to make you proud.”

“I know you will,” Peter said.

“ _Foster the good_ ,” Winslow repeated.  “As in a foster parent?  Is that how you would describe your relationship?”

“You like labeling things,” Peter said.

“Names have power,” Winslow responded.  “Agreeing on a name for something builds a common understanding.  But I get it if that makes you uncomfortable in this case.”

Peter saw that Neal was staring into his coffee mug again, and said, “I didn’t say that I was uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t have to,” Winslow said.  “But we don’t have all night.  Let’s talk about the flashbacks you mentioned.  You said there were three of them?”

“Do we have to go there?” Neal asked.

“If you want the flashbacks to stop, then yes, we have to.  Peter, which flashback freaked you out the most, and why?”

“ _Freaked me out?_   Is that a clinical term?  Never mind.”  Peter held up a hand to forestall Winslow’s response.  “The last one was the worst.  It was on the way back from the hospital in New Haven.”

“I don’t even remember that one,” Neal said.

“That’s part of what freaked me out about it.  What you were saying was worse than during the other episodes.  When you add on top of that the fact that a few minutes later you didn’t recall any of those memories you had been reliving, or even that you’d had a flashback, it was scary.  Honestly, even Jones was a little freaked by it.”

“Tell us what Neal was remembering.”

Peter gathered his thoughts.  He hated even talking about it.  “First he said ‘Sasha, stay,’ like he was talking to a dog.  Then he mentioned a gun, and too much blood, and how someone was going to die and it was his fault.  He kept on repeating that it was his fault.  And we couldn’t wake him up, at least, not until I called him Danny.  So it was obviously a childhood memory.”

“None of that rings any bells,” Neal said.

Winslow walked to the overnight bag he’d brought, and pulled out a laptop.  He booted it up, searched for a file, and then turned around the laptop on the coffee table so they could see the screen, which displayed a photo of a man in a suit.  He was about forty, of Chinese ancestry.  “Do you recognize him, Neal?”

Neal frowned at the photo.  “I think he came to the house a few times, when I was a kid.  Mom always sent me to my room when he visited.  Who is he?”

“At the time of this photo, he was a U.S. Marshal assigned to your family in St. Louis.  This was taken when you were sixteen.  Mike is the father figure you didn’t know you had.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Neal said.  “How can someone be my father figure without my knowing about it?”

“Because at some level, he thought of you as a son.  When you were nine and Vance abducted you, Mike helped the cops find you.  He was there when you were found, and was there when you were in the hospital.  The Marshals didn’t want you or your mother to attend Vance’s trial, but Mike went.  And eight years later, when Vance was up for parole based on good behavior, Mike went to the prison to speak on your behalf, to argue that Vance should stay locked up.”

“How do you know this?” Peter asked.

“I looked it up when I joined the family business.  I wanted to make sure Vance wouldn’t cause more trouble for Neal or for any other kids.  I learned that when Mike went to the prison, he spoke to Vance and then to prison administrators, and he had a chance to see Vance’s cell.  The next day he started looking for another job.  On his last day as a Marshal, he went back to the prison for one more visit.”

“What did Mike see in Vance’s cell?” Peter asked, picking up on the emphasis Winslow placed on that piece of the story.

“A photo of Neal.  You see, as part of Vance’s plea deal, everyone in the prison knew him as a kidnapper.  But they didn’t know he had abducted a child, much less abused that child.  He told everyone the photo was of his son.”

Neal drew in a sharp breath.

Winslow nodded.  “On his second visit, Mike told a guard to take down that picture and explained it was of one of Vance’s victims.  He made sure to say it where several prisoners could hear.  A few days later, Vance was dead.”

“Mike made sure Vance never got out of prison,” Neal said.

“To keep you safe, yes.  I would have done the same thing myself.  One of the reasons I was interested in joining the family business was to find out Vance’s status, and to take care of him myself, if need be.  If I’d found he was in prison with that photo in his cell, I’d have done the same thing.”  Winslow looked at Peter.  “What about you?”

“No.”  Peter looked at the two cousins in dismay.  “He was tried in a court of law, and he was serving his time.  That’s justice.  This Mike person shouldn’t have intervened like that, and neither should you.  Nothing gives you the right to take the law into your own hands.  He should have shared what he saw with the parole board, and let them take it from there.”

“Mike didn’t agree.  He thought the law didn’t offer sufficient protection for an innocent child he felt responsible for.  He did what a father would do.”

“Even your father?” Neal asked.

Winslow nodded.  “Even mine.  He can be a jerk, and misguided, and I hate what he did to you.  But the fact is, it was his own messed up way of protecting me.  If I’d been the one Vance had abducted, my dad would have done the same thing Mike did.  What about your dad, Agent Burke?  What would he have done?”

Peter shrugged.  “My dad was a bricklayer.  It’s not the same thing as being an officer of the law.”

“Your profession shouldn’t make a difference,” Winslow said.  “If you’re a dad, then you’re a dad first.”

“I can’t accept that,” Peter said.  “Being an FBI agent is too ingrained in who I am to be ignored.  If I start making exceptions in personal cases, then I’m perverting justice, and I can’t do that.  I’d have to leave the Bureau.”

“The way Mike left the Marshals,” Winslow said.  “Let me show you something else.”  He spent a moment typing, then turned around the laptop to face Peter again.  This time it displayed a crime scene photo.  On a background of beat-up linoleum flooring was a wide pool of blood. 

“Is that chalk outline?” Neal asked.

“Yeah,” Winslow confirmed.

“Why didn’t they finish drawing the outline?” Peter asked.

“The person drawing it stopped when he realized the victim was still alive, barely.”

After a moment of silence, Neal asked, “The victim was me?”

“That’s right.  There was so much blood, you looked so bad, everyone thought you were dead.  The paramedics were treating a gun-shot victim instead, until the person processing the scene noticed you were struggling to breathe.”

“Are those paw prints in the blood?” Peter asked.

“Good eye,” Winslow said.  “A German Shepherd named Sasha belonged to the man who’d been shot, but she kept walking back to Neal and whining.”

Neal looked pale.  He stood up and said he was going to get more coffee.

When Neal was on his way to the kitchen, Winslow reached around the laptop to press a button, and another photo displayed.  In this shot, a young boy lay in the pool of blood.  He probably had dark hair, but it was too matted with blood be positive.  His T-shirt was too splattered with blood to tell if it had originally been a solid color or had a pattern.  His right arm was at an awkward angle, broken. 

“Neal?” Peter asked in a low voice.  When Winslow nodded, Peter let his head fall into his hands.  He felt sick.  “Oh, God.”  He heard the clattering of a keyboard, and saw Winslow close the laptop.  “If you want to give Neal nightmares, why don’t you show _him_ that photo?”

“That’s not how his mind works,” Winslow said.  “He’d be more upset by the photos of the man with the bullet wound.”

“Because he feels responsible for the man being shot?”

“You’re starting to get it, Agent Burke.”

Peter was glad he didn’t have to look at that photo of nine-year-old Neal anymore, but didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forget what he’d seen.  He’d never felt as much anger as he did right now toward the man who had inflicted that damage.  “My dad would have hit Vance over the head with a brick.”

“That’s –” Winslow started, but then Neal returned. 

Instead of coffee, he brought back a glass of water.  He didn’t seem as pale as he had a few minutes ago, but the water probably meant the first photo and conversation about Vance left him nauseated.  With good reason.  Neal looked tired, Peter thought.  “Maybe we should call it a night,” Peter suggested. 

“We can’t stop now,” Winslow said.  “We’re finally ready for the experiment I wanted to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter wraps up the angst, and then we can get Peter and Neal back to work. This latest chapter isn’t as polished as I would normally want. However, we are dealing with raw emotions, and a more raw style seems fitting.
> 
> I hope to post the next chapter in less than a week. However, I’ll admit to being very distracted by a recruiter who called about a job in Hawaii.


	16. Nightmares: The Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Neal said 90% of what Henry had planned was the set up, and the rest would be a trap. We’re about to fall into the trap. And as I warned in the last chapter, I have no expertise in real psychology.

**Burke residence, Brooklyn.  January 7, 2004 – Wednesday night.**

When Neal returned to the living room with a glass of water, he was glad to see Henry’s laptop closed.  The crime scene photo Henry had been displaying, showing where Neal had been found almost dead after being abducted as a child, made Neal queasy. 

He wasn’t surprised that Henry had looked up information about the ordeal.  They both had inquisitive minds, and Henry often acted like a protective older brother.  He’d want to understand the demons in Neal’s past and try to help slay them.  But Neal didn’t want to talk about them.  And that meant he didn’t want Peter to get too curious about them, either.  Neal was starting to think that while having a big brother or a father figure was nice, dealing with both of them at once was overwhelming. 

It was a relief when Henry jumped to yet another topic: the experiment he’d first mentioned in the pub. 

“We’re going to try a variation on the question session about my background, but this time we’ll let Neal answer the question.  Agent Burke, you can use any means you want to convince Neal to tell you the name of the city where I live.  Neal, you can lie, evade, or take any other means to avoid telling him where I live.  But you can’t leave.  You both have to stay here in this room, until I say the experiment is over.  Got that?”

Neal got it.  This was where the set up ended, and the trap began.  Clearly Henry had noticed that Neal couldn’t seem to lie to Peter.  That was embarrassing, but maybe at the end of this experiment Henry could explain the cause and the fix for the situation.  And honestly, Neal was curious about the outcome of this experiment.  He nodded, agreeing to walk into the trap.

Peter also nodded.  He turned on the sofa to face Neal.  “This doesn’t have to be a big deal.  Tell me the name of the city, and we can have this over with.”

Neal grinned.  “Where would be the fun in that?”

“You’ve already told me he doesn’t live in D.C.”

“Did I?” Neal countered.  “I think I said his mom moved away from D.C. when she got married.  That only means he didn’t grow up there.  He could have moved there as an adult.”

“Then why stay at his grandparents’ home the weekend you were both in town?”

“Oh, you should see their house, Peter.  It’s amazing.”

Elizabeth walked downstairs wearing a fuzzy green robe over a pair of pajamas.  “Still going?” she asked with a yawn.  “I have the guest room ready whenever you want it.”

“I’m sorry, hon,” Peter said.  “I didn’t realize it was getting late.”

“That’s fine,” she said.  “If you’re all good down here, I’m going to grab a book and take it upstairs to read.  Is there anything you need?”

When they said no, she pulled a book from the shelf and went back upstairs, yawning again.  Neal almost yawned in return, and wondered about the time.  He couldn’t check, because Henry had taken their watches almost as soon as they arrived at the Burke residence.

“Does he live in D.C.?” Peter asked.

“No.”

“In the United States?”

“Yes.”

Henry spoke up.  “At this rate, we’ll still be at this until dawn.  Are you going to name every city in the country and ask if that’s it?  I expected something more impressive from an FBI agent.”

“Slow and steady wins the race,” Peter said.

Henry shook his head.  “Not tonight.  He’s already yawning.  Yes, I saw that, Neal.  You realize he can escape your questioning simply by falling asleep.”

Peter studied Neal a moment.  “You didn’t see the second floor on your last visit.  The guest room is nice.  The mattress is new, high quality.  You’ll like it.  As soon as you tell me where Winslow lives, you can go upstairs and sleep.”

“That’s okay.  I’m fine with sleeping on the sofa if I have to.”

“Neal, why are you doing what your cousin tells you?  You can make your own decisions.”

“I know, but this time he’s right.  I need to do this,” Neal said. 

“Tell me a lie,” Peter said.

“What?”

“Tell me he lives in New York.”

Neal shrugged.  “Henry lives in New York.”

“No,” Peter said.  “Not like that.  Tell a convincing lie.  With your reputation as a con artist, you must be good at lying.”

“What’s the point?” Neal asked.

“I want to see if you have any tells.”

_Boston_ , Neal decided.  That’s the city he would name.  He imagined a scenario where Henry lived in Boston, and only had to convince Peter to join him in this fantasy.  He smiled that confident grin he used to win someone over to his world of a con artist’s make-believe.  “He’s moved around a lot,” Neal said, starting with a truth to gain momentum.  “If he had to provide ten years’ of address history for the FBI, it would go on for _pages_.  But now…  Now he lives in…”  He could feel his smile faltering.  He couldn’t keep meeting Peter’s eyes.  He wanted out of this room, but he couldn’t leave.  That was the one rule: he couldn’t run away.  At least not physically, but there were other types of escape.  He slumped a little, breathed a little faster, and unknotted his tie.  He picked up his glass of ice water and held it up against his forehead a moment, before taking a drink and placing the glass back down again.  “Henry, I’m sorry.  I don’t think I can do this tonight.”

Henry applauded.  “Excellent performance.”

Neal looked at Peter, who said, “If I hadn’t seen you truly sick in St. Louis, I would have been fooled.  But why go to all that effort instead of naming a city where he doesn’t live?”

“He did exactly what you asked,” Henry said.  “He told a lie.”

 “Were you fooled?” Peter asked.

“Of course not,” Henry scoffed.  “I’ve dragged him to a hospital with pneumonia.  I know when he’s sick, usually long before he’s willing to admit it.”

Neal was grateful for Henry taking the attention and giving him a chance to regain his composure, but worried that Peter was close to guessing Neal’s inability to lie to him.  “I told Peter you took me to a morgue once when I refused to see a doctor.”

Henry shook his head at the memory.  “I’d never been that scared before.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Neal said.  “You seemed totally in control.  And sarcastic.  That’s what I remember the most.”

“I’m surprised you remember anything about that day.  You had a raging fever.”

“I thought it was a heat wave.”

“Right.  Because Chicago is known for heat waves in March.  The snow that had fallen the day before hadn’t melted yet.”  Then Henry asked, “Well, Peter, do you give up?”  

“No, but I’d like to know the point of this experiment,” Peter said.

“It doesn’t work like that.  If the subjects know the goal of the experiment, it influences their performance.  You need to remain focused on your assignments.”

Peter drank more coffee and grimaced.  “This is getting cold.  I’m going to freshen my cup.  Anyone else want some?”

“You can’t do that,” Henry said.  “No leaving the living room.”

“It’s just the kitchen,” Peter insisted.  “I’ll leave the door open if that makes you happy.”

“I’ll refill it for you,” Henry said. He took Peter’s coffee mug to the kitchen.

Peter looked at Neal.  “Let’s try another approach.  Tell me how I can convince you to give me the truth.  What will it take?”

“I’m not for sale, Peter.”

“And you’re competitive.  You’re treating this like a competition and you’re determined not to give up.”

“Right back at you,” Neal said.

“This really could last all night.”  Peter sighed.  “Neal, please, don’t drag this out.  We both have to go to work in the morning and you don’t want to spend the day in the van after an all-nighter.  As a favor to me, will you tell me the truth?  Where does Henry live?”

“I promised to do my best not to tell,” Neal objected.

“No you didn’t,” Peter argued.  “Henry told you his rules, but never asked for your agreement.  He only asked if you understood.”

“You’re splitting hairs,” Neal said.  “You know what he meant.”

“Are you going to make me turn this into an interrogation?  Because I don’t want to use those methods on you.  But I will if that’s what it takes to get this over with.”

“It’s hard to be intimidated when I know you like me, Peter.  I won’t believe any threats to imprison me.  What do you have left?”

“Neal.”  Peter reached out to place a hand on Neal’s arm.  He took a deep breath, and actually looked nervous.  That was a first.  Peter looked directly into Neal’s eyes and said, “Son.” 

Neal froze in shock.  He hadn’t expected this.  And he’d never experienced this almost painful combination of joy and terror.  He shuddered.

“Congratulations.”  Henry placed a mug of coffee on the table.

“I shouldn’t have…  He wasn’t ready,” Peter said, an edge of panic in his voice.

“No one ever is,” Henry said cryptically.  “Neal, it’s okay.”

Neal ran his hands through his hair, before looking up at Peter again.  “Baltimore.  He lives in Baltimore.”

“That right.”  Henry stood again.  “And your assignment is over.  Try to stay awake long enough to get upstairs, and then we can all finally get some sleep.”

“Are you all right, Neal?” Peter asked.

“I’ll take care of him,” Henry said.  “You can talk about it tomorrow.  Or later today, depending on what time it is.”

Peter pulled up his sleeve slightly, to reveal a bare wrist.  “Where’s my watch?”

“Your wife has it, and your phone.  They’re upstairs.”  Henry grabbed Neal by an arm and pulled him to his feet.  “C’mon, kiddo.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Neal said.  Putting everything together now, he realized the trap had never been for him.  It had been a trap for Peter.

“Don’t judge the experiment until you analyze the results,” Henry cautioned.  “You’re going to feel differently about this in the morning.”

Neal’s first inclination was to argue, but he held back.  Partly because he was too tired to make a decent effort, and partly because he had enough experience with Henry’s experiments to know that Henry went into these things with good intentions and good instincts.  Instead he said, “Don’t do that again,” and followed Henry up the stairs.

Upstairs, Neal found his overnight bag on the guest room bed.  But when he opened the bag, he discovered Henry had made a change to the contents.  His black sweatpants were still there, but instead of the plain black T-shirt he’d intended to wear with them, he had a white T-shirt from a Coldplay concert.  It had “A Rush of Blood to the Head” written across the front.  And it was a size larger than he normally wore.  Henry had already escaped into the bathroom with his own bag, safe from Neal’s complaints or attempts to search for his shirt. 

Neal could either wear what was clearly Henry’s shirt, or go shirtless.  He considered the shirtless option a moment, but the Burkes kept their house cool at night.  He pulled on the shirt Henry intended for him to wear, realizing that this additional manipulation indicated the experiment probably wasn’t over yet.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter wanted to ask El for his watch, but she was already in bed.  The book she’d been reading lay on the nightstand, and she seemed nearly asleep.  She cracked open her eyes as he slid in next to her.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“I hope so.  Did you set the alarm?”

“All taken care of.”

The alarm clock had been turned around slightly, and Peter couldn’t read the time.  But what difference did it make?  He was exhausted.  Obviously it was late.  Soon he was deeply asleep, and dreaming.

He couldn’t make out many details of the room in his dream.  It seemed like a commercial space rather than a residence.  All of his attention was focused on the floor.  It was ugly, yellowish linoleum.  And in the middle of that floor a broken boy lay in a pool of blood.  Someone was drawing a chalk outline around the child.

“No!  He isn’t dead,” Peter said.

But the person kept drawing.  The chalk outline was halfway complete.

“Stop!  You have to help him. He’s still alive.”

The chalk outline was seventy-five percent complete.  When it was finished, the child would be beyond help.

Peter needed to convince the person to stop drawing.  “Neal!” he yelled.  If the child would open his eyes or say something in response, the outliner would stop.  “Neal!”  He wanted to reach out, pull the outliner away, and shake Neal into responding, but he couldn’t move.  All he could do was yell, “Neal!”

As the outline reached an inch away from completion, Peter sat up in bed, breathing hard.  He was fairly sure that he had been yelling Neal’s name out loud. 

Confirming his suspicion, the bedroom door opened, letting in a ray of light from the hallway fixture.  “He’s here,” said Winslow.  He guided a bleary-eyed Neal into the room. 

Peter jumped to his feet, rushed to the doorway and grabbed Neal by his shoulders.  At some level he realized this Neal was an adult, but the tousled hair and big shirt made him seem younger, like the boy Peter had been helpless to save in his dream.  He looked the kid up and down, checking for blood or any sign of injury.  “You’re okay,” Peter said, and pulled the young man into a hug.

After a moment, Neal relaxed enough to pat Peter’s back, and then pulled away.  He rubbed his eyes, and didn’t seem fully awake yet. 

“Go back to bed,” Winslow said softly, giving Neal a push back toward the guest room.  Neal yawned and followed his cousin’s instructions.

“Bad dream?” Winslow asked.

“You went into this intending to give me nightmares.  I assumed it was Neal, but it was me all along.”

“It could have gone either way, depending on your reactions earlier.  What did you dream about?”

“That damn photo, of Neal lying in a pool of blood.  I couldn’t help him.  I stood there, yelling at him to wake up before they declared him dead, but I couldn’t _do_ anything.”  He took another deep breath.  “I’ve never been that rattled by a dream, and I’ve seen a lot as an agent.”

“But not as a father.  Your fear for him means you’ve truly started to think of him as a son.  That’s what I needed.”  Winslow turned around, and shut the door behind him. 

_What you needed?_   Maybe it was the late hour, and not being fully awake, but Peter didn’t understand what Winslow meant.  Peter turned around to face El, who was sitting up and watching him with questioning eyes.  From this angle, he could see the clock.  It showed the time as 12:30.  Peter would have guessed it was later than that when he’d come upstairs.  “Is that clock right?” he asked.

El glanced at it, and checked her watch.  “Yes.  Now tell me about that dream.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“That was weird,” Neal said when Henry returned to the guest bedroom.

Henry sat on the floor.  He’d insisted Neal take the bed, and he’d spread out a sleeping bag on the carpet.  “Not really.  That’s what having a dad feels like when you’re an adult.  Awkward and embarrassing and comforting.”

Neal had been sitting up in the bed, but he was exhausted.  He slid down.  “That’s how you feel with Robert?”

“Hmm.  Two out of three.”  Henry reached up to turn out the lights.  “Don’t worry.  Peter meant it when he called you _Son_.  It was real.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter always got up early, then either went into the office early or took care of things around the house.  This morning when the alarm clock sounded, he got dressed for work, leaving the tie and suit jacket for later, and then checked on the occupants of the guest room.

Henry Winslow slept on the floor between the bed and the door, as if making a point that he was there to guard Neal. 

“Rise and shine,” Peter said as Satchmo slid into the room for his own check of their guests.

Henry stretched, and when a wet dog nose met his own nose, his eyes opened and he pushed the dog away.  He sat up, stretched again and asked, “No more nightmares?”

“No.  How about in here?”

“It was quiet.  The experiment was a success.”

Then from the bed they heard, “Stop it.”  They both turned their attention to Neal, afraid he was having a flashback.  But then they heard, “Satchmo, that’s gross,” as Neal hid his face in the pillow to keep the dog from licking him.  Peter couldn’t help chuckling as he ordered Satchmo out of the room.

Now Neal stretched and slid out of bed.  Yawning and tousle-haired, he mumbled, “Morning” as he grabbed his duffle bag and stumbled toward the bathroom.

Something was different about Neal this morning.  Peter turned to ask his cousin if he’d noticed it, and then was distracted by Henry’s expression.  In all of their time together up until now, Henry had looked intense.  He’d been in guardian mode, Peter realized.  But now for the first time he simply looked happy.  He was watching Neal with the fond exasperation of an older brother.

“Don’t hog the bathroom, pretty boy!” Henry yelled.  “The world won’t stop if your hair isn’t perfect.  Leave a little hot water for the rest of us.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Heard it a thousand times before.  And people ask why I don’t want a roommate,” Neal said before closing the bathroom door. 

Peter leaned against the wall.  “He’s better today.  I didn’t realize how worn down he was getting, but the difference is obvious now.”

Henry stood, placed his own bag on the bed, and pulled out a suit.  “The short version is that Vance, as the first father figure Neal remembers, was the stuff of nightmares.  With subsequent father figures, Neal recognized at some level that they were bad and built up his defenses against them.  But you’ve knocked a lot of those defenses down, and that allowed the flashbacks to surface.  You made him more vulnerable than he’s been in a long time.  What you did last night, calling him _son_ and almost having a panic attack when you dreamed he was in danger, that gave him a new set of defenses.  He trusts you’re willing to protect him.  So he felt safe and slept soundly for the first time in about a week, I’d guess.”

“No more flashbacks?  It’s that easy?”

“Of course not.  But we bought time.  We should have weeks, even months, before they appear again.  We can work on convincing him to talk to a professional, and find the right person to counsel him.”

“Not you?” Peter asked.

“No.  I’m not a clinical psychologist, and I’m too close to him to be his therapist.”  Henry sat on the edge of the bed.  “But we can worry about that later.  Enjoy today.  For a little while, he’s going to feel like a carefree kid, trusting that the adults in his life have all of the bad stuff handled.  That can’t last long.  The adult burdens of the world will pierce that bubble soon enough.  But this time around it won’t be as bad, because he knows you’re helping him carry the worst of his burdens.”  Henry paused a moment before asking, “Are we spending today in the van?”

Peter shook his head.  “This isn’t take-your-cousin-to-work day.  We don’t make a practice of bringing civilians into FBI operations.  Especially civilians as shrouded in mystery as you still are.”

“You could use it as an opportunity to learn more about me.”

“I can run a background check whenever I want.”

“But you haven’t.  I found that very interesting.  Did Neal ask you not to?”

“He called the fact that I haven’t done it yet _a barometer of my trust_ in him.”

“I like that.  Fine.  If you want to be left alone to bond over your new-found father-son relationship, be my guest.  I’m sure you have lots of rampant emotions you both want to share and talk through while you’re locked up alone in the van.  Having a third party present would inhibit that.”

“Umm.”  Peter imagined being alone with Neal all day in the van.  They probably would feel pressure to talk about what had happened last night.  He hated those kinds of talks.  “You can go along to the van, but you aren’t invited to the morning briefing.  There’s no way I could explain that to Hughes.”

Henry grinned and bounced off the bed in eagerness for this new adventure.  “This is going to be fun, Peter!”

“I doubt that.  I will do everything in my power to make it not fun, to ensure you never want to tag along again.”  Peter tried to sound severe, but couldn’t entirely erase the smile from his face.  He couldn’t help imagining what Henry and Neal must have been like when they met up a few years ago.  All of that energy and exuberance.  He had a feeling he was going to experience a taste of that, today.  And he doubted he could keep that locked up in the van for very long.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter has transitioned from calling Henry “Winslow” to using his first name, because they are acknowledging their relationship to Neal binds them together. The honorary father and honorary brother have a common goal of looking out for Neal, even if they’ll disagree about the best ways to do that. But they respect each other and will try to collaborate.
> 
> A few more chapters to follow, and then we’ll reach a natural break between this story and the next one in the series.


	17. Road Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a transitional chapter. The last chapter focused on the father/son relationship and ended with everyone extremely happy. This chapter takes Peter and Neal back to case work. It also has the return of characters from the original case and New Year's Eve party that were the focus of the first part this story. I'm bringing them back for closure as this story wraps up.

**Burke Residence.  January 8, 2004 – Thursday morning.**

While everyone else was waking up and getting dressed, Peter caught up on email.  He became absorbed in the updates on recent cases, and was the last one to head downstairs.  As he reached the living room, he could smell the omelets and coffee El was making, and heard Henry strum a guitar.  Neal came out of the kitchen with a stack of plates and flatware, which he placed on the table.  Then he glanced over at Henry and sounded surprised when he said, “You kept it.”

Henry stopped playing and shrugged.  “I thought you might want it back someday.”

“Thanks,” Neal said as Henry handed him the guitar.  Neal leaned against the recliner and played a chord and said, “Hello, my friend.”

Henry shook his head.  “You’ll never be as good as me, but I know you can do better than that.”

“You saw the piano at my place.  That’s what I’ve been playing the last month; I haven’t practiced with a guitar in weeks.  And I’m supposed to be setting the table.”

“Well, then you need to practice, and I think I can figure out the table.”

After a few more chords… Or at least that’s what Peter assumed it was, not being into music himself, Neal started playing an actual song that Peter vaguely remembered hearing on the radio.  Neal repeated “Hello, my friend,” and then continued onto more lyrics. 

Henry sang along while arranging the table.  It brought to mind what Ellen Parker had said in St. Louis: the Caffrey side of Neal’s family loved music, and couldn’t pass up a piano without playing a song or listen to the radio without singing along.  Neal had even mentioned memories of his mother singing in the kitchen while she cooked, and probably felt at home as Elizabeth hummed while pouring coffee. 

Peter followed her into the kitchen.  “You know the song, too?”

“’My Sacrifice’,” she said, thought a moment and added, “by a group called Creed.”  She handed Peter a plate of toast which he carried back out to the dining room.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal flipped through radio stations as Henry drove to the FBI offices.  They had been following Peter’s car for the first few blocks, but as usual the agent had sped ahead as if he were in a race.  Neal landed on a station that was starting the song “The Reason” by Hoobastank, and he listened with intent to play it on his guitar that evening. 

As usual, Henry couldn’t help singing.  But when the song ended he turned off the radio.  “So, you can’t lie to Peter. Does that mean you gave the FBI _all_ of your aliases when you made your confession?”

Neal knew which alias had Henry concerned. “I withheld the name _Neal Legend_. It’s more a pseudonym than an alias. That’s how I justified holding it back.”

“You promise you’ll keep that one a secret?”

“I have to.  And if anything goes wrong, it’s the one escape I have left.  The FBI knows nothing about that part of my life, and they don’t need to.  I don’t want to give Peter any clues or reason to follow that thread.”

“You’ve mentioned Shawn to them.”

“It was hard not to.  But I didn’t give a last name.  I’ve implied Shawn is a friend of yours, without a criminal past, and therefore not of interest to the FBI.”  Neal looked over at Henry.  “You know, I used to think you were crazy, talking about Shawn in the third person. But then, when I started gathering aliases and trying to keep them all straight, I had to do the same thing.  Each alias had different personalities and quirks, and I thought of them as different characters I played, but not me.  I finally understood how Shawn could be blisteringly angry that I left, and you could still be my friend.”

“It does feel schizophrenic at times,” Henry acknowledged.  “But I can’t retire him yet.”

“Thanks to Shawn’s temper tantrum when I left for New York a couple of years ago, a lot of the people who have heard of Neal Legend think he’s dead.”

“I might need to revive him if I start to make progress on my plan for Masterson.  I’ll need your help to bring him down.”

“Another reason you let Robert blackmail you into joining the company?” Neal asked.

“Yeah, but no luck yet on getting the information I need.  I’ve got the same challenge that you do; I don’t want anyone I work with to guess about Shawn, and extensive research into Masterson would clue Robert in to how I stayed off the radar all those years.  He’s smart enough to put it all together if I’m not careful.  I’m hoping your FBI resources can help.”

“Now it’s making sense.  You want Peter to get used to seeing you around, as the first step toward using the FBI in your personal vendetta.”

“I’ll make it worth their while,” Henry promised.  “And I think _vendetta_ is overstating it.  Are you going to tell me you want Masterson to get away with what he’s doing?”

“Of course not.  It’s just…  You can get a little carried away as Shawn sometimes.  Be careful.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On the drive to the office, away from the distraction of Neal and Henry, Peter considered Henry’s claims that he had access to significant sources of data through the “family business.”  A business located in Baltimore.  He thought he’d figured out what that business was.

Peter rushed through the morning traffic in the hopes of confirming his suspicions before Henry and Neal got to the office.  Knowing Neal, they’d stop someplace for fancy coffee, which gave him a few more minutes. 

Fortunately, Jones was already in the office.  Peter strode purposefully to the agent’s desk and asked, “When you did that basic background check on Henry Winslow, was his employer Winston-Winslow?”

“Yeah.”  Jones opened a drawer and pulled out a file.  He opened it to a list of basic facts about Henry.  “Name like that sticks with you.”

“I need to borrow this.”  Peter grabbed the file and practically ran up the stairs to Hughes’ office. Seeing the boss was alone, he stepped inside, closed the door behind him and asked, “You got a minute?”

“Have a seat.  What’s got you in such a rush, Burke?”

“Last night I met a Henry Winslow from Baltimore.”  Peter laid the file on Hughes’ desk, open to the photo and basic info about Henry.  “When I was a probie in D.C., I heard rumors about an outfit called Winston-Winslow in Baltimore.  The stories were so outrageous I doubted if the company was even real, but obviously I was wrong about that.  What can you tell me about them?”

“This Winslow must have made quite an impression.”  Hughes leaned forward to scan the basic background info and then looked up at Peter again.  “Is he causing trouble?”

Putting aside the Winslow-induced nightmare that he still believed was caused with good intentions, Peter shook his head.  “Not yet.  Caffrey says he’s mostly harmless.”

“That seems unlikely if he’s one of _those_ Winslows.  They’ve been a thorn in the side of the FBI since Win-Win opened their doors in the early 1960s.  And yes, a lot of the rumors are true.” Hughes leaned back in his chair.  “You met him last night and already have a file on him?”

“I’d heard the name a few times before.  He’s Caffrey’s cousin.”

 “Caffrey has a Win-Win connection and it didn’t raise any flags on his background check?”

“That’s right,” said Peter, knowing Neal’s background check raised no flags because his background was a fiction invented by the U.S. Marshals.  “Henry Winslow has only been with the company about a year.  Sounds like he was reluctant to join them at first, but has big plans now.  He wants to open a branch in New York.  And then he wants to recruit Caffrey away from the FBI.”

Elbows on the arms of his chair, fingertips meeting in front of his chin, Hughes pondered this information.  “I’m going to make a few calls.  Go ahead and lead the morning briefing, while I put out some feelers.  I assume this Winslow knows you’re an agent?”

“He does.  And he’s on his way here.”

“Willingly?  Either he or you were brilliant to pull that off.  Keep an eye on him.  I don’t want him going through our files or accessing our systems.  I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything from my contacts in Baltimore.  Did he happen to mention his job title?”

“No.  But I’ll ask.”

“If he tells you he’s a receptionist, proceed with caution.  They reserve that title for the ones who cause the rumors you heard.  We still don’t know why.  Any intelligence you can gather about the organization needs to go into our file on them.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was surprised at first that Henry was invited into the morning briefing.  Then he thought about Henry being free to wander the bullpen unchaperoned, and decided it was a smart move on Peter’s part.   

As expected, he and Peter were assigned to spend the day in the van again, but at least this time they were guaranteed something interesting to observe.  The approval had come through to bug Quincy’s office, and Jones would be responsible for planting the bug, with Peter and Neal listening and providing back up.

Then Agent Tricia Wiese took the floor.  “Wickham has confessed to the charges of fraud and embezzlement at L&B, but we’re not getting a lot of traction on his black-market connection.”  She projected an image of a man in his mid-thirties.  “Wickham named this man, Davis Denny, as his contact.  All of their transactions involved wire transfers to accounts we haven’t been able to trace back to Denny or any of his associates.  Without solid evidence, we can’t arrest Denny.  Fortunately we had a breakthrough yesterday when Wickham admitted he’d been storing misappropriated L&B products on the Sinclair estate.  There’s a guest house that was under construction on the edge of the property, near the road.  Construction stopped in the summer when Sinclair started running short of cash, and now the guest house is essentially abandoned. Wickham still has a stash there awaiting pickup.  All we have to do is tell Denny it’s ready, and Denny’s crew should arrive within a few hours.  We want to set that up today, before word gets out of Wickham’s arrest.”

“Do you trust Wickham to handle the meet?” Peter asked.

“Not at all. However, Denny’s under the impression that Benny Sinclair is in on the deal.  He shouldn’t be spooked if Sinclair meets him instead of Wickham.”

Peter frowned.  “I don’t like the idea of using Sinclair in an op like this.  He’s a civilian, and frankly I don’t think he could pull it off.”

“To the best of our knowledge, Denny has never met or even seen Sinclair.  I was going to ask if you’d go undercover as him, Peter.  After the op on New Year’s Eve, you’re familiar with the property.  You’re the right age, and you could easily pass as an L&B executive.”

Neal caught the look Peter shot in his direction.  Or more likely in Henry’s direction.  There was a moment of hesitation, but then Peter agreed.  “All right.  Change in plan.  Hitchum, you’ll be in the van with Jones today.  Caffrey will go to Connecticut with Wiese and myself.”

With that, most of the agents were dismissed.  Tricia, Peter, Neal and Henry stayed in the conference room for more details of Tricia’s plan.  To be safe, the Sinclair family would spend the day at the Gardiners’ home.  Tricia and Neal would set up surveillance and monitor Peter.

As Tricia reviewed the details, Henry’s phone buzzed.  He ignored it.  Twice.

Then Peter’s phone vibrated.  He frowned at the number, and then answered, “This is Special Agent Burke.”  He listened a moment and asked, “How did you get this number?”  Another pause. “He’s right here.  Why didn’t you call his phone?”  A pause.  “Yeah, definitely a pain in the ass.  You’re right, I deserve some payback.”  Peter put the phone on speaker.  He handed it to Henry, who automatically accepted it, but with a questioning look.  Peter answered with a mischievous expression Neal had never witnessed on his boss.  “Here, Henry.  It’s your mom.”

Neal managed not to laugh at Henry’s appalled expression.

“Uh.  Hi?” Henry said.

“If you would simply answer your phone, I wouldn’t have to go to these lengths,” said a woman who sounded so much like Neal’s mother that it almost took his breath away.  Identical twins.  He knew they would look alike, but hadn’t considered that they would sound alike.  “Your father called this morning in a snit because you spent the night at the home of an FBI agent.  When he tracked you and the agent both to the same Federal building this morning, he almost exploded.”

“How could he possibly know that?” Henry asked. 

“You have a company phone, with GPS.  They tracked you.  You know they like to practice their techniques on employees.”

“No,” Henry insisted.  “I disabled the GPS as soon as I got the phone.”

“They pay the bill, sweetie.  They control the account, and they re-enabled the GPS.  Please tell me you’re not in serious trouble.”

“Of course not.  Everything’s under control.”  Henry glared when Neal couldn’t hold back a grin.  _Everything’s under control_ was Henry-speak for _I’m making it up as I go_.

“Fine. I’ll tell Robert not to send in the cavalry.  I’m sure there’s a pilot firing up a corporate jet as we speak.  Are you going to make a habit of hanging around FBI agents?”

“Well…  The thing is…”  Henry ran his free hand through his hair in a move Neal knew he used, too.  He realized he’d probably picked up the gesture from his cousin.  Henry looked at Neal, then at Peter, and then back to the phone.  “Yeah, I think I will be hanging out with an FBI agent for a while.”

“I see.  I’ll recommend Robert consider medication for high blood pressure.”

Henry looked askance at Neal and then said, “Listen, when I get back to Baltimore, I need your advice.  I have a friend who’s experiencing flashbacks of a repressed childhood trauma.”

Neal tried to grab the phone.  Henry dodged behind Peter.

Henry continued, “It’s been happening more and more frequently.”

Neal tried to reach around Peter, who grabbed his phone from Henry’s hand and sent it sliding across the slick conference table.  Henry and Neal both ran after it, on opposite sides of the table.

“He should see a therapist,” came Noelle’s voice from the sliding phone.  “I can recommend someone.  Does he live in New York?”

There were more chairs on Henry’s side of the room.  With fewer obstacles, Neal reached the phone first, before it could slide off the end of the table.  In his best Henry impression he said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go,” and disconnected the call.  He tossed the phone back to Peter, who caught it with ease.

“Why did your mother make the call, instead of your father?” Peter asked as he pocketed his phone.

“Dad’s too hot-headed.  You’d have hung up on him in less than a minute.  He leans on others rather than learn diplomacy.”

Tricia Wiese, who had been patient up to now, said, “I’m going to pick up the surveillance equipment. When you’re done playing games, meet me at the Gardiners’ home.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter took the cousins up to Connecticut in his car.  Henry called shotgun and started messing with the radio before they’d driven a block.  Staying focused on the city traffic, Peter vaguely noted they were playing a complex game based on knowing the songs they heard.  There were points for knowing the title, the artist, the record label, and the lyrics.  There was even a system of points with minimal credit for knowing the chorus, more credit for knowing the first verse, and the most credit for getting words to a subsequent verse right.  They also seemed to have rules about who took the melody versus the harmony.  As they left the city behind, the cousins were singing “My Own Worst Enemy” with a great deal of gusto, but when the song ended Peter turned off the radio.

“I’m sensing you’ve played that game a lot,” he noted.

“Made it up on a lot of road trips,” Henry said.  “We stayed on the move.”  The car had warmed up, and he pulled off his coat.  “Are we going to finish our exchange of information for time out of the van?”

“Yeah,” Neal chimed in from the back seat.  “You were in the middle of a story that was going to get me down to ten days of surveillance work.”

“Fifteen days,” Peter corrected.  He looked back in the rearview mirror to see Neal shrug.

Neal grinned and said, “It was worth a shot.”

“You’d left off with discovering that Neal and his mom had moved to St. Louis.  You were going to explain how and why you met up with him.”  Peter wanted to pay particular attention to the information Henry mentioned having access to through the family business.  Hughes would want to know.

“Right.  I’d uncovered a lot of information by the time I was sixteen, but then I stopped hanging around the office.”

“Because of your parents’ divorce,” Peter recalled.

“Right.  Shortly after I turned twenty, I needed to drop off the radar.  I needed for my dad, who is a complete control freak, to stop monitoring me.  I couldn’t use a credit card, ATM or phone without him knowing about it.  Any kind of travel that required ID he could potentially track.  It took a lot of creativity to evade him.  Even doing my best to be invisible, I occasionally left a trail.  I was working on –”

Peter had to ask, “Why did you need to become untraceable?”

“It’s a long and irrelevant story,” Henry said.  “I was working on negotiating a deal where my dad would stop tracking me if I checked in periodically.  He was balking, though, until he needed a favor from me.  Mom’s sister had called, off schedule.  It was March instead of Christmas.  Meredith knew from her discussion with Mom over the holidays that I’d become sort of a runaway, but that she wasn’t too worried because Dad had resources to track me.  So when Neal ran away, Meredith called Mom and asked if Dad would track him down.  He tracked him from St. Louis to Chicago, but then lost him.”

“I was using cash and staying put,” Neal added.

“To find Neal and make Mom happy, Dad needed my expertise with being a runaway.  He offered me a deal.  If I found Neal and promised to check in monthly, he’d stop monitoring me.  I was desperate to make him stop, and curious about my missing cousin, so of course I took the deal.  With the information he gave me, my own memories of what I’d discovered about Danny Brooks, and my experience as a young man occasionally living on the streets, I tracked down Neal.  He was in an industrial district, hiding out in an abandoned building with some other street kids and homeless guys, and running a serious fever.  It was freezing cold out there, snowing the day before I found him, and I knew about the drowning before he left St. Louis.  It was a good bet he had developed pneumonia.  But there was no convincing him to see a doctor.  That’s when I decided to take him to a morgue, instead.  That got him to agree he needed medical assistance.”

“Three days in a hospital,” Neal said.  “I wasn’t happy about that.”

“No, you weren’t.  But it gave me time to get everything settled.  Mom overnighted family photos and other evidence I could use to prove we were cousins, so you’d listen to me when you could actually stay awake for more than half an hour at a time.  Dad had time to verify that a Neal Caffrey had been checked into the hospital, with his older step-brother Henry Winslow listed as next of kin, and he gave his word to stop tracking me.  Of course, he was severely pissed the next day when I declined to take you back to St. Louis.  He wanted to back out of the deal, but the bargain was I had to find you, not that I had to send you home.”

“Why didn’t you send him home?” Peter asked.

“The nightmares,” Henry responded. 

“That really isn’t –” Neal started.

“I knew he’d been abused,” Henry continued over his cousin.  “He wouldn’t talk about it, and I couldn’t tell if it was an ongoing issue.  I couldn’t take the chance of sending him back to an abusive situation if his mom was still dating losers, and I couldn’t leave him alone.  He was recovering from pneumonia and didn’t know the first thing about how to fend for himself on the streets.  I decided to take him under my wing for a little while, and then found I kind of liked having a kid brother to boss around.”

“And I found I could tolerate having a big brother.”

“ _Tolerate_ ,” Henry repeated as he rolled his eyes.  “You thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread.  You recognized my obvious genius, and hung on my every word.”

“I was already such an accomplished con artist that to this day you believe I idolized you.”

“All of my cousins idolize me,” Henry claimed.  “It’s a heavy responsibility, but I’ve learned to live with it.”

Neal snorted.  Then he asked, “Fifteen days, Peter?”

Peter considered for a moment whether he wanted to tip his hand before Hughes called with more information.  He decided it was worth the risk.  “Yeah.  And I’ll take it down to fourteen days if Henry answers a simple yes/no question.”

Henry studied Peter a moment.  “What’s the question?”

Peter’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.  Traffic was light, giving him the freedom to watch Henry’s reaction as he asked, “Do you like working for Win-Win?”

“Damn.”  Henry frowned, closed his eyes and sighed.  “I tried to bury the fact that I’m from Baltimore in all of the drama last night, to delay your putting the pieces together.” 

“I told you Peter was clever,” Neal said.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When they arrived in New Haven, Neal greeted Peggy Gardiner and Guillaume D’Arcy in French.  The student seemed thrilled to have a young man close to his own age to speak to, and they chatted amiably for a few minutes.  Henry stood on the periphery and observed.  He’d been quiet since learning the FBI knew where he worked, rebuffing all questions about Winston-Winslow.

Henry rarely talked about Win-Win, but Neal had picked up the basics over the years.  Now that Henry was less of a mystery, Win-Win was a subject Neal could use as his next bargaining tool with Peter.

At noon the Gardiners served a casual lunch, with sandwich makings and a salad on a buffet, and people grabbing seats around the dining table or in the living room.   Benny Sinclair and his daughters were there, and none of them seemed surprised that Neal no longer had a French accent and didn’t go by the name _Charles_.  Lily wanted to know what had happened to his glasses, and insisted on another magic trick.  That finally got Henry engaged.  He considered himself superior when it came to sleight-of-hand. 

“Is he Ron?” Lily whispered to Neal after a particularly impressive trick.

Henry heard every word and raised a brow.  Neal hadn’t yet told Henry about the party at the Sinclair home.

“Yeah,” Neal said.  “His hair got darker when he got older.  Lily, Katy, this is my best friend, Ron Weasley.  Ron, these young ladies have guessed who we are.”

Henry’s eyes widened.  He’d just taken a bite of his sandwich and quickly swallowed.  “They think you’re…”  He couldn’t say it.

“Yeah, I was wearing round glasses when we met.  They figured it out right away.”

“We knew for sure when he fought Charlotte,” Katy said.  “She was evil.  Only Harry Potter could save us.”

“Didn’t I see Charlotte when we arrived?” Neal asked.

“She lives here now,” Katy said.  “Daddy said she can’t stay at our house anymore because she makes Bethanne sick.  But he lets Bethanne come here to visit.”

As if summoned, Charlotte sauntered into the living room and approached the chair where Neal sat.  “Speak of the devil.  Hello, beautiful.”  He placed his mostly empty plate on a side table and lifted Charlotte onto his lap.  “How do you like living with the Gardiners?”

Charlotte sniffed his hands, meowed softly, and then jumped down to check on the other members of the party, starting with Henry.  He obligingly scratched her ears.  “She’s evil?”

Katy held up a hand for his inspection.  “She scratched me.”

“Without any provocation at all,” Neal said, managing to sound serious, but unable to suppress a smile.  “At night, Charlotte turns into the monster under the bed.”

Guillaume entered the room with a pitcher of water. _“Quelqu’un veut de l’eau?”_

Neal held out his glass. While Guillaume poured, Neal asked his opinion of the cat. _“Il n’y avait pas d’animaux quand tu t’es installé_ _avec les Gardiners._ _Est-ce que tu aimes Charlotte?_ _”_

The student shrugged. “ _J’ai un chien chez moi, mais les chats ne me dérangent pas._ _Par contre, depuis que Charl otte est ici, Bethanne vient toujours la voir, ça m’énerve.” _He made it clear that, as a college student, he found high school girls _i nsupportables_.

Bethanne, who spoke French better than her stepmother, took the pitcher of water and dumped it over Guillaume’s head.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After lunch, Peter, Tricia, Henry and Neal went to the almost finished guest house on the Sinclair property.  Thomas Gardiner joined them.  Having been involved in the case already, he said he wanted to hear how it ended.  Peter welcomed the offer, as he’d be too busy to keep Neal and Henry out of trouble.  He hoped there would be time after the op to ask what Thomas knew about Win-Win.

They put a listening device on Peter, and set up the surveillance equipment in the largest bedroom.  Tricia showed Neal and Henry how to record and listen to the conversation, and Thomas remained with them.  Tricia would be armed and ready to act as back-up if Peter needed help dealing with Denny. 

The stolen property from L&B was in boxes in the garage.  Denny had agreed to arrive with a truck early in the afternoon to take everything.  They wanted him to make a wire transfer to an account the FBI had established, and then would make the arrest after they had the evidence they needed to freeze his account.

It was supposed to be simple and straightforward, a perfect example for Neal of how a field operation should work.

The truck arrived on schedule.  Denny jumped out of the passenger seat to greet Peter while another man came from the opposite side of the truck to open the back doors.

“Sinclair?”  Denny asked.

“That’s right,” Peter told him.  “Thanks for being on time.  My wife’s away and my kids are still on Christmas vacation.  I shouldn’t leave them alone too long.”

Denny looked around for others.  “Whatever.  Where’s Wickham?”

“He’s got the flu,” Peter said.  “He’d have handled this if we’d waited till next week.  But I don’t like having this stuff sitting around.  I just wanted this over with, you know?  He said it was a simple deal, so I thought: why not?”

“Uh-huh.  Let’s see the goods.”  Denny led the way to the garage, and Peter used the remote Sinclair had given him to open the overhead door.  Inside, Denny opened one of the boxes, checked the contents, and took a quick count of the boxes sitting in the garage.  “Usually there’s more,” he said.

Peter shrugged. “That’s all we’ve got this time.  Are you going to take it?”

“I’m here.  I’ll take it.  You got an account number for me?”  Denny took the slip of paper Peter provided with the account number.  Denny’s partner continued loading the truck.

After Denny placed a call to authorize the wire transfer, Peter pulled out his badge.  “FBI.  You’re under arrest.”  When Denny reached for a gun, Peter quickly disarmed him, pushed him against the wall, and cuffed him.  Tricia had slipped out of the house and went after the other guy, who initially tried to reopen the back of the truck to scramble inside, and then reached for a gun.  Tricia twisted his gun arm around and cuffed him smoothly.

It was all by the book, until Peter saw Neal run out of the house toward the truck.  Then everything went to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selecting songs that would have been on the radio in early 2004 was a fun research project.


	18. A Call for Help

**Sinclair guest house, Connecticut.  January 8, 2004 – Thursday morning.**

While they listened to the arrest on the surveillance equipment, Thomas Gardiner warned Neal and Henry, “I hear another set of footsteps.  There’s a third man.”

“Denny, a driver, and someone else to help load the truck,” Neal guessed.  “Peter got Denny, and Tricia got the guy loading the truck.  The driver could still get away with the stolen goods.”

“That’s the bulk of their evidence. Can we warn Peter?” Henry asked.

“This equipment is one-way,” Thomas said, standing up.  “We have to go out there.”

Neal grabbed his coat and made a run for it, almost knocking over Henry, who stayed to guide Thomas to the front door.  Seeing the silhouette of a man already in the driver’s seat, Neal sprinted past the FBI agents and opened the passenger door to the truck as the driver started the engine.  The driver, a burly, bald guy with prison tattoos, pulled out a gun.  “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

Neal jumped into the passenger seat and closed the door.  “The name’s Neal.  I work for Wickham.  He sent me to keep an eye on things, because he thought there was something suspicious about this set up.”

“He got that right.”  The driver put the truck into gear.  Looking in the side view mirror, Neal could see Peter and Henry struggling to restrain Denny; the man must have used the commotion caused by the truck starting as a cover to run away.  Tricia yelled at the driver to stop and ran after the truck, but they were already speeding down the road.  The driver put his gun into a holster.  “Don’t try anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  Neal pulled on a seatbelt.  “What do I call you?”

“Lucas.”

“Thanks for the lift, Lucas.”

“I’m not making any extra stops for you,” Lucas warned.

“That’s fine.  I don’t have any place I have to be, other than away from the Feds.  Mind if I make a call?”  Neal reached for a phone, but Lucas went for his gun again.

“Yeah, I mind.  Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.  No calling or texting anyone while you’re in the truck.”

Neal kept Lucas calm by staying still and quiet.  He paid careful attention to their route, and hoped he was right about what Henry and Win-Win could do.

  **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“He’s armed,” Peter said as he and Henry dragged a struggling Denny back toward the house.  “Both of these guys had weapons, so we have to assume the driver does, too.  And Neal jumps into the truck with an armed man!  What the hell is he thinking?”

“He’s thinking someone has to make sure the driver doesn’t get away with most of your evidence.”  Henry helped Peter give Denny a final shove into the garage.  Tricia’s prisoner was already in the garage, and she had locked the house-to-garage door before calling the local police for back-up.  Henry saw a chisel and with it tore the garage door opening mechanism from the wall, breaking the wires so the prisoners couldn’t control the overhead garage door from inside.

Peter nodded in approval, and used the remote to close the overhead door, locking the prisoners in.  Tricia could handle them on her own until the cops arrived to pick them up, but the truck was already out of sight.  “Damn it to hell!  They could be headed anywhere.  I’ll have to call the local authorities and put out a BOLO on the truck.  Did any of you get the license plate number?”

Tricia had the first letters, and Peter called in the request to be on the lookout for a white box truck with plates starting BRI.  He saw Henry pull out a cell phone, and hoped for a moment that Neal had called his cousin with a location, but Henry wasn’t talking to anyone.  Instead he frowned at the phone, and then stared down the road.  As soon as Peter finished his call, Henry said, “I need to use your phone.”

“What’s wrong with your phone?” Peter asked.

“Mine is apparently in the truck.  Neal managed to swap our phones on his way out of the house.  I don’t have the code to unlock his, so I need to make a call from your phone.”

Peter handed it over.  “Why would he do that?  What does your phone have that his doesn’t?”

“GPS tracking,” Henry said as he dialed a number. 

“What’s your protégé done?” Thomas asked, and Peter walked over to the retired agent to describe Neal’s latest stunt.  “Three weeks at the FBI!” Peter fumed.  “He’s supposed to be here to watch and learn.”

“I understand your point of view, of course,” Thomas said.  “But you must admit, working for the FBI tends to appeal to a certain type.  In the end, you want people who will take initiative, who can quickly evaluate a situation and jump into action.  It’s hard for them to turn off those traits temporarily while they’re still in training.”  Thomas chuckled. “And I can tell from the tension in your arm that don’t want to hear it yet.  Fair enough.  Who is Henry talking to?”

“He works for Winston-Winslow.  I assume he’s asking them to track Neal using the GPS in the cell phone he took with him.”

“Clever.  Well, let’s listen in, then.”

They walked closer to Henry, and heard him saying, “Yes, on my authorization.  I’ll take full responsibility.  Track the phone registered to me, and give me directions from the location of the phone I’m calling from.  We’ll be following.  You have this phone in the system already.  Robert tracked it this morning.”  A pause.  “Charge it to the same account Robert uses when he tracks me…  No, I’m not answering another question until you have a fix on my phone.”  Henry caught Peter’s eye and gestured toward the car.  “Are you ready?  They should be seconds away from a direction.”

Peter nodded.  “Thomas, I’ll leave you here with Agent Wiese.”

The retired agent tightened his grip on Peter’s arm.  “I think I can be of more help with you.”

Peter wanted to argue, but he wanted to get on the way even more.  He guided Thomas to the backseat of the car, while Henry got into the front passenger seat.  “They’re heading northeast on I-95,” Henry said as Peter started the car.

For a quarter of an hour, they drove in silence only interrupted when Henry had an update on direction. The truck had moved to another, smaller highway, but they could go faster if they stayed on the interstate.  Eventually, when they had made up enough ground, Henry advised Peter to take an exit and follow a road that led toward the coastline. 

Henry’s conversation with the person providing directions had been terse, filled mostly with “Thanks, Raul” or “Got it.”  But suddenly he sat up straight and said, “Yes, Mr. Winston.  It’s a family matter.  I have reason to believe that my cousin is in serious danger.”  Henry glanced at Peter and sighed.  “Yes, sir.  The FBI is involved.  And with all due respect, I’m not going let some ridiculous feud that started before I was even born prevent me from accepting their help.  If collaborating with Agent Burke increases the odds of success, then that’s what I need to do.”  There was a pause.  “Yes, sir, you can tell the board I said that.”  Another pause, and under his breath Henry told Peter, “Take the next right.”  Back into the phone he said, “Yes, I can confirm that I’ve not been coerced by the FBI or any other entity.  We’re almost there.  If you have any other questions, we can talk when I’m back in the office on Monday.”  Henry closed the phone and returned it to Peter.  “They’ve stopped near the docks, a few blocks ahead.”  A moment later, Henry pointed to the right.  “That’s it!”

“I see it.”  Peter glimpsed the white truck.  He parked behind a building, and with Thomas agreeing to stay in the car and call the cops for backup, Peter and Henry crept around the building to watch the driver pull the first boxes out of the truck and hand them to Neal to carry into a dilapidated warehouse.  The driver wore a brace that seemed to indicate a bad back.  That’s why he had stayed with the truck instead of loading boxes at the guest house.  A bulge under the driver’s jacket indicated he was armed.  “I don’t have a second set of cuffs with me,” he told Henry.  “Can you look for rope or anything we can use to restrain him?” 

Henry nodded and made his way around the back of the building.  Peter went around the front, moving toward the main entrance of the warehouse.  He pulled out his gun and chose his moment, when Neal was inside the building, and the driver was grabbing another box from the truck.  He aimed his gun at the driver and stepped forward.  Any second the driver would look in his direction.  Before Peter could announce he was with the FBI, something caught the driver’s attention from inside the building.  “Hey!  I said no calls or texts!” the man yelled.  As he turned around, he saw Peter and ran inside.

Peter swore as he followed, hoping there was cover inside the warehouse to offer Neal some protection.   No such luck.  The place was mostly empty other than the few boxes that had been moved from the truck to a set of pallets on the ground.  The driver stood behind Neal, holding a gun to his head.

“Listen, Lucas, I just wanted to talk to my girlfriend,” Neal said.  “The call didn’t even go through.  Cell coverage here sucks.”

Peter appreciated that Neal had provided the driver’s name.  Still holding his gun but pointing it at the ground, Peter showed his badge and said, “Lucas, I’m with the FBI, and I’m not alone.  Put down the gun, and this will go much better for you.  No one has to get hurt.”

“I’m not going back to prison!” Lucas yelled.  Even though it was freezing outside, the man was sweating.  This wasn’t someone thinking clearly, making it a nightmare negotiation scenario.

“You don’t have to go to prison,” Peter said as calmly as he could.  “You let this guy go, tell me about Denny’s black market operations, and we can get you a deal.  Maybe a little community service, huh?”

For a moment, Peter thought Lucas would go for it.  He’d lowered his gun a couple of inches, but then they heard the sirens of the approaching police.  Lucas raised the weapon again and tightened his arm around Neal’s throat.

Neal gasped.  “Please.  Jacket pocket.  Inhaler.”  He winked at Peter.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Henry.  He’d slipped through a back entrance, and was removing his tie.

“What?”  Lucas clearly didn’t follow.

“I think he has asthma,” Peter said.  “Can you let him use his inhaler?”

“Shit.  He could be going for a gun.  I ain’t lettin’ him move.”  But Lucas’ attention waivered.  He wasn’t aiming the gun directly at Neal anymore.  Neal gasped again and reached for his throat, but one hand kept moving upward and grabbed Lucas’ wrist, pointing the gun up toward the ceiling.  Before Lucas could compensate, Peter and Henry rushed forward.  Peter got the gun away, and Neal helped Henry restrain Lucas.  They used Henry’s tie to bind the man’s wrists until the cops arrived with their handcuffs.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After a lot of flashing of Peter’s badge and a brief statement to the police, the local authorities took Lucas away.  Peter, Thomas, Henry and Neal stood in the warehouse.

“That was amazing!” Neal said, still feeling the effects of an adrenaline rush.  His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour.  Peter had to be impressed this time; they got the bad guy and there wasn’t a resulting hospital trip to add paperwork.  Neal had even used his FBI training on faking an asthma attack; that had to get him extra points.  “We should grab dinner someplace and celebrate.  There must be some great seafood places around here.”

“Neal,” Henry said in a warning tone, shaking his head and looking at Peter.

Neal looked at Peter’s thunderous face.  “C’mon, Peter.  We won.  We caught the bad guys.  It’s our first field operation together, and we were awesome.”

“Do you have your consultant’s badge with you?” Peter asked in a voice devoid of emotion.

“Yeah.”  Neal slid the badge out of a jacket pocket.  “Should I have shown it to the cops?  It seemed like seeing your badge did the trick.”

Peter snatched the badge out of Neal’s hand.  “Neal, you are suspended until further notice.  And frankly, I’m going to recommend you be fired.”

Neal backed away a step, feeling as if he’d been punched.  “What?”

“Peter, calm down.  Don’t do something you’re going to regret,” Henry said.

“You’re too reckless to make this work.  I gave you this job to keep you out of prison.  But I’d rather see you in prison than dead.”  Peter paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if combating a headache.  “I need to call in my report.  Thomas, let me take you back to the car.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter called in his report from his car, with Thomas listening from the passenger seat.  When he ended the call, he was tempted to bang his head against the steering wheel.  He wasn’t normally given to bouts of violent anger, but Neal seriously pushed his buttons.

“You didn’t mention suspending Neal in your report,” Thomas noted.  The man had a serenity that Peter normally admired, but at the moment he wanted space.  If it weren’t getting dark, he’d go back outside and take a long walk.  When Peter didn’t respond, Thomas said, “Agent Wiese mentioned that Neal was a criminal until very recently. Why did you recruit him?”

_Good question_ , Peter thought.  “He’s smart.  Brilliant, really.  And once I got to know him, I realized he was already one of the good guys, who got stuck on the wrong side of the law.”  He sighed, aware that he sounded dejected.  “It seemed such a waste, trying to catch him to send him to prison.  He was one of the rare felons that I honestly believed could be reformed.”

“But now you’re going to give up on him?  I’m surprised.  You must have realized that the transition from his old life to being an FBI employee would be rocky.”

“I could handle rocky.  But it’s too dangerous.  He’s too impulsive.  Too impetuous.  He’s going to keep putting himself in danger.  Kicking him out of the Bureau is the only way to make him stop.”

“Peter, you sound like almost every FBI agent’s spouse or parent I’ve ever spoken to.  Peggy said very similar things to me, followed by a big _I told you_ _so_ after I lost my sight.  But I don’t regret having been an agent, and I hope the Bureau didn’t regret hiring me.  I like to think I accomplished a lot of good in my years.”

“It’s different with Neal.  He isn’t…  I can’t…”  He couldn’t handle a reenactment of that photo of Neal lying in a pool of blood.

“You mentioned you’d rather see him in prison.  I assume you mean you’d rather see him go back to being a criminal, knowing that eventually he’s likely to be apprehended and convicted.”

“That’s right,” Peter said.

“But that entails a series of crimes in the meantime.  What kind of crimes did he commit?”

“Cons, frauds, forgeries, burglaries and thefts.”

“Anything dangerous?”

Several past conversations with Neal came to mind.  Neal saying he had plenty of experience with armed guards.  Neal in St. Louis scoffing about the danger of leaping between rooftops in Paris.  Leaving the FBI was not going to make Neal safer.  As things stood now, at least Peter could keep an eye on him.  Intellectually he knew Thomas had a point, but emotions were still running strong.  “It’s like being asked if I want to keep him around and watch him being gunned down, or let him go and hear about it after the fact.”

“If you keep him around, you have the opportunity to train him and influence him.  And you know that a man who has something to live for tends to be more cautious.  But someone who thinks he’s already lost everything will throw caution to the wind.”

Peter winced, remembering Neal’s expression when Peter said he should be fired.  And he remembered Henry’s warning from a week ago, that if Neal felt betrayed by the FBI he’d go on a crime spree like Peter had never seen.  How could Neal not feel betrayed?  Peter had threatened to rip away some of the things Neal had been most excited about: a legitimate job with the FBI, and a relationship with a stable father figure.

“It’s obvious from what he’s said to me, and how he said it,” Thomas continued, “that Neal thinks the world of you.  I don’t think I’d be overstating it to call it hero-worship.  I think you’ll find he’ll be willing to try things, or to stop doing things, to make you happy.  But he can only do that if you tell him what you need him to do.  If really want to reform him, tell him what behavior you want to change, rather than banishing him.”

Peter kept replaying the way Neal had stepped back when Peter said he wanted to fire him.  It looked as if he’d been hit or expected to be hit…  Peter felt ashamed.  Someone who’d been abused as a child deserved better treatment from a would-be father figure.  “Thomas, I don’t think I’m hero material.  Maybe I should find him another mentor, someone who’ll be more patient with him.”

Thomas considered that a moment.  “Tell me, when Neal jumped into the truck with Lucas this afternoon, did it occur to you that Neal might be in collusion with Lucas?  Or that he might planning to convince Lucas to take him on as a partner to sell the stolen goods?”

“No!  Of course not.”

“How many agents can you think of who would trust a confessed thief to that extent after less than a month of working together?”

“None,” Peter admitted.

“I think you’ve made more progress than you realize.”  Thomas chuckled.  “And speaking as a man who’s raised a couple of sons and has several nephews who thought an FBI agent was the coolest uncle ever, I can tell you the hero-worship phase doesn’t last very long in a young man.  He’ll recognize that you’re human soon enough, and after a brief period of disillusionment you’ll move onto equal footing as friends.  That’s the phase that can last a lifetime, if you’re lucky.”

Peter could imagine that type of scenario when a barely-eighteen-year-old Neal was found by his cousin.  Henry probably wasn’t exaggerating by much when he said Neal had idolized him.  And now, years later, they were clearly close friends.  It really could work the way Thomas described.

But there was an intermediate step first, one that Peter never enjoyed.  He needed to apologize.

“What do you think Neal will –” Thomas started to ask, but was interrupted when Peter’s cell phone buzzed.

Peter recognized the number.  “Sorry,” he said to Thomas, and greeted Hughes.

“Is Henry Winslow still with you?” Hughes asked.

“He’s in the vicinity, but not in listening range.”  Peter knew Hughes was probably calling with information about Winston-Winslow, and he wanted to hear it, but his gut was telling him to keep this call short.  Neal had a flight instinct, and their confrontation of a few minutes ago had to be triggering that instinct.  Peter didn’t think Neal had any means to run at the moment, but the kid was clever and inventive, and so was his cousin.  Peter’s instincts had him opening the car door and stepping outside to make sure they were still in the warehouse.  “Damn,” he said automatically, as the wind hit him.  The temperature had dropped, and he hadn’t noticed the snow starting to fall while he’d been in the car. 

“Something wrong?” Hughes asked.

“The weather’s getting worse than I realized.  We need to head back to New York soon, while the roads are still clear.”

“I won’t keep you long,” Hughes promised.  “Obviously a company as large as Win-Win can’t be entirely shrouded in secrecy.  I have contacts who should be able to provide some insight into the company.  But as soon as I mentioned Henry Winslow, they either shut up or refused to answer my calls.  Then Allen Winston contacted me late this afternoon, and I’ve been working to confirm his story ever since.”

“Did it pan out?”

“So far I’ve confirmed Allen is the current CEO of Win-Win.  And he told me he expects Henry to take on that role eventually.”

“What about Henry’s father, Robert?”

“Allen says the other Winslows and Winstons are bright enough to keep the company going, but Henry is the only one who also has the creativity of the founders.  And the board believes they need that trait to expand and thrive.  One particularly convincing point is that Henry’s grandfather waited to retire until Henry had been with the company for six months.”

“He wanted to be certain Henry could fit in, and do the job,” Peter guessed.

“That’s how I read it,” Hughes agreed.  “Allen said Henry isn’t convinced yet, but he’s gradually taking on more responsibility and feeling more protective of the employees.  Allen was certain that in a few years Henry will agree he’s the best person for the job.  I certainly can’t confirm that kind of speculation, but they are very protective of him.  Allen was too smart to make any explicit threats, but he made it clear that they’ll take action if any harm comes to Henry while he’s in our midst.”

The heir apparent of Win-Win had spent last night at his house.  Peter could hardly believe it.  And yet, he could see Henry as a CEO one day.  Henry did have a protective streak, a natural sense of leadership, and had settled into a serious and business-like demeanor when he told – not asked – Win-Win to track Neal by GPS.   An east wind blew directly into Peter’s face and slowed his progress as he walked toward the backdoor of the warehouse.  “Any advice for dealing with him?” he asked Hughes.

“You’re in a unique position, Peter.  Henry Winslow seems willing to disregard decades of hostility between Win-Win and the FBI, because of your willingness to take a risk on his cousin.  Any influence you can wield to keep Henry on track at Win-Win and favorable toward the FBI could have major repercussions in years to come.  I can’t tell you what it could mean to have access to their resources.”

“But no pressure,” Peter said in as sardonic a tone as he could muster in the freezing wind.

“Do what you can,” Hughes said, “and let me know how the Bureau can help.”

Peter ended the call, pocketed his phone, and pulled on his gloves.  He felt as if he were arming himself for a battle.  He was thinking more clearly now, and he knew what to expect: Neal would be planning to go on the run, and Henry would offer to quit his job to aid and abet him.  Reese Hughes and Allen Winston were not going to be happy unless Peter cleaned up this mess.

When Peter reached the warehouse, it was deserted.  He hadn’t seen signs of anyone around the back, and he walked through the building to the front entrance.  When he opened it and looked outside, he saw footprints in the snow leading toward the truck.  He’d taken a few steps in that direction when he heard Henry yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We’re very near the end now. I promise an explanation of what Win-Win does, and one more trip to the hospital before moving on to the next story in the series. Neal and Henry will even get to play the Hospital Game that they mentioned earlier in this story.


	19. Win-Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a moment of crude humor, which gives Peter an opportunity to be disapproving and paternal.

**Warehouse, Connecticut.  January 8, 2004 – Thursday evening.**

Neal stood still after Peter left the warehouse, catching his breath.  He’d wanted to follow, but Henry had held him back, saying Peter needed time to think. 

It still felt like he’d been sucker punched, and the adrenaline that left Neal’s heart racing moments ago was rapidly dissipating.  Soon he felt tired and sat on a stack of pallets.  “Peter’s going to send me to prison,” he said.  He was starting to feel the cold in the drafty building, and shivered.  He wrapped his arms around his torso for warmth.

Henry placed a hand on his shoulder.  “No, he can’t do that.  You have immunity for your crimes now.  That was contingent on your confession, not on working for the FBI.”

Neal nodded.  He loosened his arms slightly.

“The thing is…”  Henry paused, swallowed, and started over.  “The thing is, with a resume that shows only three weeks of a legitimate job before you were fired by the FBI, there aren’t going to be a lot of opportunities open to you.”

Neal’s arms tightened again.  “You both think I’ll return to crime.”

Henry removed his hand from Neal’s shoulder and sat beside his cousin.  “It’s the most statistically likely scenario.  Neal, I’m sorry.  This is at least partly my fault.  What I did last night…  I could tell Peter was almost ready to think of you as his son, and I knew it would help you manage the flashbacks if he went ahead and took that leap.  But he wasn’t ready for all of the repercussions.  He couldn’t handle seeing you in a life-or-death situation this soon.  He led with his heart, as a dad, instead of with his mind, as a boss.  If he’d had a little more time to process everything first, he’d have reacted more rationally here.”

Neal relaxed his arms and sighed.  It was a ragged sound, revealing more emotion than he wanted to show, but he couldn’t help it.  “I’m going back to a life of crime, and Peter will catch me and send me to prison.  Win-Win won’t let you talk to a convicted felon until 2013.”

“No,” Henry insisted.  “First, once Peter calms down, there’s a chance he can be convinced to give you another try.  Second, if that doesn’t work out, you have another option he isn’t aware of.  Neal Legend –” 

“Is Shawn’s sidekick,” Neal interrupted. 

“Damn it, Neal.  You have to get past Shawn’s ego.  You were a partner, not a sidekick, no matter what he said.  But you won’t have to go it alone.  I’ll be Shawn again full-time.  I’ll tone him down and we can make it work.  It’ll be fun,” Henry insisted with a determination Neal knew well.

“You can’t.  You have a job at Win-Win.  You need to shake them up and open your own branch in New York.  And you have to bring down Masterson.”

“You’re more important than Win-Win, and I’m starting to think that I can bring down Masterson without them.”

“Thanks,” said Neal.  They sat in companionable silence, lost in their thoughts.  Neal was planning how he’d escape and elude the FBI, preferably without disrupting Henry’s career.  And he was pretty sure Henry was planning how to escape and elude Win-Win to go on the run with him anyway.  “Let’s take the truck,” Neal suggested after a while.

“Take it where?”

“Back to New York.  It’s evidence, right?  It should go to some evidence graveyard in New York, and taking it there beats sitting around here.  At least it would be warm.” Neal stood up.

Henry stood, too.  “You gonna tell Peter first?”

“We can call him from the road, ask him for directions to wherever the FBI stores impounded vehicles.”

“He isn’t going to like it,” Henry warned.

Neal shrugged.  “None of us will like going back together in Peter’s car.  Who fires someone and then gives him a ride home?”  He walked to the main door of the building, and was surprised at how hard he had to push to open it.  The wind was howling out there.

“Suddenly you’re an expert on the etiquette for firing –” The wind hit Henry in the face as Neal opened the door.  “It’s snowing.”

“Brilliant deduction.  You’ll go far at Win-Win.”

The wind was whipping the snow into drifts beside the truck.  “That settles it,” Henry declared.  “I’m driving.  You never could handle icy roads.”

Neal knew they were squabbling to avoid thinking about their impending unemployment, and he welcomed the distraction.  But before Neal could rebut the aspersions on his driving, Henry slipped on a patch of ice and landed in a sprawl.

Instead of springing up in normal Henry fashion, he stayed sprawled on the ground and said, “Ow?”  He sat up.  “Yes.  Ow.”

Neal crouched beside him.  “What is it?”

Henry held his left arm protectively against his body.  When Neal touched the arm, Henry yowled in pain.

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind them, and Neal wasn’t surprised to hear Peter asking, “What happened?”

“I think he broke his arm.”

“No,” Henry said.  “Maybe a fracture.  No big deal.”

“Let’s get you to a hospital,” Neal said.

“No.  They’ll put a cast on it.”

“That’s what they do for broken arms,” Neal agreed.

“No.  You don’t get it.  If I show up at Win-Win Monday and have to tell everyone my arm was broken while I was with the FBI, they’ll…”

“They’ll what?” Neal prompted.

“I don’t know.”  Henry almost whined.  “But it won’t be good.”

“Uh-huh.  You’re not thinking straight right now, because of the pain.  The hospital would give you something to take the edge off, and then you’ll be able to think again.  That’ll be good, right?”  Neal put an arm around Henry and urged him upward.  “C’mon.  The sooner we get you to a hospital, the sooner you can boss us all around again.”

With Peter’s help, they got Henry settled in the back of the car, and then they headed to the same hospital where Neal had been taken on New Year’s.  To keep a glassy-eyed Henry distracted from the pain, Neal started telling him the highlights of the Sinclairs’ party, from Marie’s pretense of being French, to why the girls thought he was Harry Potter, to tempting Collins into stealing a first edition _Paradise Lost_.  Neal even made light of his surprise when he realized the inhaler contained something other than water.  He also mentioned running into Kate, which elicited a breathless, “I never liked her,” from Henry.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter didn’t join the conversation in the car at first, because the driving conditions had deteriorated and he needed to focus on the road.  But he was impressed by Neal’s handling of the situation – from the moment Peter had arrived on the scene to see Henry on the ground, to the soothing and light-hearted tone Neal was maintaining now.  The cousins had smoothly reversed roles, and Peter thought that _caretaker_ looked good on Neal.

There was something very youthful about Neal’s look and general demeanor, which Peter realized had caused him to underestimate the kid’s level of maturity and grace under pressure.

Chunks of snow and ice made the interstate bumpy.  Peter tried to avoid the worst of it, but one particularly bad patch elicited a hiss of pain from Henry. To help distract the young man, Peter asked, “Neal said you wanted him to use your identity. Why is that?”

“It confounds the data geeks at Win-Win to see me pop up in two places at once. They depend too much on data points and algorithms.  Gotta make them think about what the data means and question their conclusions.  They forget the data is telling them about people, who aren’t logical or completely predictable.  And it annoys Robert.  That’s always good.”  Henry took a deep breath, stopped hunching forward over his arm, and leaned back against the seat.  He closed his eyes.  “Neal, Shawn had plans this weekend.  You’ll cover for me, right?”

Neal glanced quickly toward the front seat and said, “Maybe you should cancel.  How about we say no to Shawn for once?”

“Not this time.”  Henry’s eyes opened slightly and he looked at Neal.  “It’ll be better if you do it, anyway.  Should have thought of it before.”

“This wasn’t some convoluted scheme of Shawn’s, was it?  You get hurt, make me get involved again?”

Henry shook his head.  “No way.  I wouldn’t do this on purpose.  And Shawn isn’t into pain.”

“Really?  Because I remember a story about Shawn and a dominatrix, and he didn’t seem to mind, well, anything.”

“You know what I told you about Shawn’s stories,” Henry admonished.

“’They’re all lies.’  I know.  But I wanted to believe that one.  It was hot.  I really got off – ”

Okay.  Maybe Neal wasn’t as mature as Peter had been thinking earlier.  Peter suddenly had a very fatherly urge to interrupt the conversation.  “Neal!  Not in the car.”

“What?”  Neal stared at Peter.  “Oh.  I’m not going to get off in your car.  Ew.”

Henry and Thomas didn’t bother to hide their laughter.

“That’s not…  Not what I meant,” Peter said as sternly as he could manage.  “I’m telling you to mind your language in the car.”

“Why?  What’s so sacred about your car?”  Neal still sounded confused.

“It’s not the car, per se,” Peter explained.  “It’s the company in the car.”

“It’s…”  Neal trailed off.  “I don’t get it.”

“Welcome to the capricious world of parents who randomly decide to correct your behavior,” Henry told him.  “Just say _yes, Dad_ and get it over with.  You can’t win.”

“I’m not…”  Neal looked trapped.  Peter guessed the kid didn’t appreciate father-son humor after the scene in the warehouse.  And he really didn’t want to hear Neal say, _I’m not his son_.

“Forget it,” Peter said, letting him off the hook.   

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At the hospital, Neal accompanied Henry to an examination room.  Peter and Thomas headed to a waiting area, where they called Peggy.  She promised to be there soon to pick up her husband.

“You mentioned Henry works at Winston-Winslow,” Thomas said.  “I’ve never met an employee.”

“What do you know about them?” Peter asked.

“The founders both worked at the FBI.  Agents Winston and Winslow reputedly had amazing closure rates, but their methods were unorthodox.  In the early 1960s, the FBI pressured agents to be a lot more by the book.  One of the agents was fired, and soon after the other one quit.  One evening they met at a bar to commiserate, and came up with the idea of opening their own investigation and corporate security business.”

“Going into competition with the FBI?”

“In a sense.  They lacked the resources of a major government agency, but they also had more freedom.  If the rumors are true, they pulled some crazy stunts to close cases, and it paid off.  Around the time I left the Bureau, Win-Win was moving into the data business.  Data warehouses were the next big thing.  The company offered services in data security and data mining.  Marketing departments of major companies are willing to pay big bucks for valuable, actionable insight into their data, and to get it they would be willing to sign agreements that Win-Win’s investigative branch could access that data to solve or prevent crimes.  They can’t share clients’ information outside Win-Win, but simply having access to the raw data feeds of major telecoms, banks, credit card companies, travel companies, and even some government agencies…  You can see how that could help them track down suspects and point them in the right direction for solving cases.”

“Do you think they actually have that kind of access?”

“I do.  I suspect that’s why Win-Win has stayed out of the limelight these last few years.  They’re trying to get their ducks in a row before anyone figures out what they have and tries to regulate it.”

“Something like that needs to have checks and balances,” Peter said.  “The potential for abuse is staggering.”

“Based on their history and corporate culture, they aren’t big fans of government oversight and terms like _checks and balances_.  They’d be more open to the concept of having a conscience.”

“Because they resent the FBI?”

“And because they have a history of recruiting psychologists.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Peter had to ask.

“I found the rumors about Win-Win fascinating when I first heard of them at Quantico, but I never had time to look into them.  When I started teaching law, I needed to research cases to reference in my classes.  I sought out cases where Win-Win was listed as contributing evidence or providing expertise, and I noticed some trends.  I can’t prove anything.  What I told you is simply the best explanation I could posit for what I observed.”

“Keep it under your hat,” Peter said, “but we’ve gotten word that Henry Winslow is being groomed to take over the company.”

“Interesting.  Did recruiting Neal have anything to do with gaining access to the Win-Win crown prince?”

“None at all.  When I first heard the name _Henry Winslow_ , I assumed it was simply one in a long list of Neal’s aliases.  I was shocked to learn he was an actual person, and I never connected the name to Win-Win until today.”

“Is the Bureau pressuring you to befriend him?  If I’m right about the company’s data sources, I can imagine the FBI’s top dogs are salivating over the idea of a consulting arrangement with Win-Win.”

“Yeah.  I expect to be told that friendship with a Winslow would be good for my career.  But I don’t see Henry falling for any false overtures.  The best thing I can do is to keep working with him toward a common goal of helping Neal.”

“In other words, do exactly what you would have done anyway, if you’d had no idea who he was or where he works.  I think you’re right, Peter.  If you’re going to be associating with members of Win-Win for long, they’ll see through any pretenses.”

When Peggy arrived, Thomas wanted to say goodbye to Henry.  Peter led them through a rabbit’s warren of exam rooms to find Neal sitting in one.  “Where’s Henry?” Peter asked.

“Getting a cast.  His arm is fractured below the elbow.”

The Gardiners expressed their best wishes, which Neal promised to convey.  Given the weather conditions, they were eager to get home before more snow piled up.  That left Neal and Peter alone, with both of them appearing distinctly uncomfortable about it.

“Listen, Neal, I’m not good at this stuff, so I’m just going to say it:  I was an idiot.  I’m not happy about the way you took off with Lucas, but I overreacted.”

“I’m not fired?”

Peter dug into his coat pocket for Neal’s badge.  “Here.  Take it.  You’re not fired, and you’re not suspended.  When we’re back in the office, we’ll talk about protocols for pursuing a suspect.” 

An RN popped into the curtained off space.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I thought you’d left.”

Neal’s eyes narrowed.  “Why would you think that?”

“Well, when Mr. Winslow’s cast was set, he told me you were going to meet him in the cafeteria.  I wheeled him there, and he said he saw his friends.  I wouldn’t have left him alone, otherwise.”

Peter raised a brow.  “Is Henry that out of it?”

“We gave him something to manage the pain, and he’s a little, well, giddy.  But not to the point of not recognizing people.”

Neal stood and picked up his coat and Henry’s.  “We’ll look for him in the cafeteria.  C’mon, Peter.  It’s time to play the Hospital Game.”

Henry wasn’t in the cafeteria, but Neal insisted on checking out the space, taking note of the abandoned wheelchair.  He retraced Henry’s path from their arrival at the hospital until he went to the eatery, making note of the routes and signs that his cousin would have found tempting. 

It fascinated Peter to watch Neal’s thought process.  He picked up clues and followed hunches with lightning speed, then paused to reflect, getting into his quarry’s mind.  At first Peter simply observed, but he couldn’t help contributing.  Neal accepted Peter’s ideas with a nod or a clearly stated reason for dismissal, never pausing long in his pursuit.  He engaged in several brief conversations with people who didn’t realize they were being questioned.  When one doctor claimed to be too busy to talk, Peter flashed his badge, and that got the man’s attention.  The doctor admitted having seen a patient wearing a sling headed toward the elevators a few minutes ago.  At the elevators, Neal read the notes about what could be found on each floor and selected the _up_ button.

“Why up?” Peter asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Henry loves music.  The next floor has a chapel, which probably means a piano.  And there’s a therapy space, which sometimes includes music therapy.”

“He won’t be able to play a piano with one arm.”

“I’m banking on the drugs making him too fuzzy to think about that until he gets there.  If we follow his trail fast enough, we might catch him before he decides on his next destination.” 

They stepped out of the elevator and followed the signs toward the chapel.  Peter realized that this was what he had wanted when he’d assigned Neal to work a month in the van: a safe environment to explore how field operations were supposed to work.  Tomorrow they could talk about the Hospital Game and compare it to the FBI’s procedures for chasing down suspects.  They actually had a lot of common ground, and Neal had such an affinity for this work that it reaffirmed Peter’s decision to recruit him. 

A dejected Henry sat on a piano bench.  When he noticed Neal, he turned around and waved vaguely at the piano.  “I can’t play.  I can’t remember ever not being able to play.”

“What do you want to hear?” Neal asked, sliding onto the bench beside his cousin.

“Umm.  ‘My Immortal’?”

“Evanescence?  You realize the singer is female, right?  I can play the piano part, but I’m not going to sing like Amy Lee.”

“You can adapt.”   

Henry closed his eyes and listened while Neal played and sang what Peter considered a maudlin song.  Peter couldn’t imagine what made Henry want to hear something like that now.  It was less than comforting.   

When the song ended, Henry sighed, leaned against Neal and said, “Every time I hear that song I remember how much you haunted me after the Marshals took you away, Neal.  That day while our moms were packing, they told me to watch you.  I didn’t know what was going on, but it was clear the grownups were stressed and I was very serious about making sure nothing happened to you.  When the Marshals came, one of them picked you up and carried you away and I thought I’d failed.  Especially when you weren’t happy about being held by a stranger.  You started screaming, and then I started screaming.  Mom told me I cried all the way home and kept asking about you for days, always wanting to know if you were all right.  When I found you in Chicago, I felt so damned relieved.  And then I was scared, ‘cause you were so sick, and when you felt better you played the Hospital Game and I thought I’d lost you again.  But when the doctors said you were okay, it was like I’d finally done my job.”

Peter patted Henry lightly on the back in solidarity.  He could completely identify with the enormity of feeling responsible for Neal.  If it seemed overwhelming as an adult approaching his forties, how had Henry managed at such a young age?  The mournful choice of song made perfect sense now.  “You were just a kid, Henry.  You did the best you could.” 

Neal gave Henry a half hug, careful not to jostle his injured arm.  “You did a good job, Henry.  I’m grown up and safe.  You don’t have to take care of me anymore.  You don’t have to work at Winston-Winslow just to provide me a job in the future.  And you don’t have to leave them just to help me deal with my mistakes.  You deserve the life that you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”  Henry yawned.

Peter decided it was best to get out of here while Henry was still awake and ambulatory.  “I bet you want to get back to New York, and sleep in a real bed instead of a hospital bed.”

Henry nodded.  “Can I play with the radio?”

“Yeah, but I’m turning it off if you fall asleep.”

“Or if you sing off key,” Neal added.

A Beatles song popped into Peter’s head.  He tried to suppress it.

“Peter?  Are you humming?” Neal asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Uh.  Not intentionally.  What you said about singing off key made me think of a song.”

“We’re starting to rub off on you,” Henry said triumphantly, and he launched into the song “With a Little Help from My Friends.”  It sounded fine to Peter, but Neal insisted that Henry’s performance wasn’t nearly up to par.  However, he noticed that didn’t prevent Neal from joining in to harmonize with his cousin.  They tried to convince Peter to join the chorus, but he refused, and hushed them when they started encountering people in the corridors.  But for the rest of the evening the line about not singing out of key was stuck in his head.

Once they were settled in his car, Peter was relieved to see there was a break in the weather and the snowplows had cleared the roads.  He found a fast food place with a drive through and was paying when his phone vibrated.  He pulled it out, looked at the display and suppressed a groan.  “It’s your mom again,” he said, handing the phone to Henry.

“Hi…  Yeah, fine…  Oh?  Hold on.”  Henry turned back toward Neal, who was in the back seat.  “D’you still have my phone?”

Neal reached into his coat.  “Yeah.  Oh, you have some missed calls.  Sorry.  Here.”  He offered the phone to Henry, who already had a phone in one hand and shrugged, unable to juggle both devices with one arm in a sling.  Neal put the phone back in a coat pocket, then took the drink and sandwich Peter passed back to him.

Peter placed Henry’s drink in a cup holder, but had no idea what to do with his burger. Henry handed the phone to Peter and took the hamburger.  Peter looked at his phone as if it might bite him and handed it to Neal.  “I can’t do this and drive.  You deal with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Silbrith for help in editing this chapter. It made a huge difference in a week where work was insane.
> 
> Win-Win is a complex business, unlike any I’ve ever heard of in real life, and it was tricky to find the right point in the story to pause for an explanation. I think of them as ominous but not evil. They have the potential to be good or bad, and Neal and Peter may influence the direction Win-Win takes through their association with Henry. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed seeing Neal on the comfort side of H/C this time. Only one more chapter left in this story, in which Peter will talk to Neal about how it felt seeing Lucas pointing that gun at Neal.


	20. Reunion

**Peter’s car, Connecticut.  January 8, 2004 – Thursday night**

To Neal, it felt like he’d lost a game of hot potato with Peter’s cell phone.  Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly in a show of needing to keep his attention on the road on this snowy night.  Henry, with one arm in a sling and generally slowed down by pain medications, appeared entirely absorbed in removing the wrapper around his hamburger.

In the backseat of the car, Neal held the phone with an emotion approaching horror.  “Um.  Hello, Mrs. Winslow,” he said to a woman he didn’t remember at all, but who was his mother’s twin sister.  “I’m…  My name is Neal.  Henry is, um…  He’s kind of busy, I guess.  And a little out of it.  I mean, he’s fine.  Compared to what he told me about breaking his leg on his tenth birthday, this is nothing.”

“What happened?” asked the woman with his mother’s voice.

“There’s a winter storm going on here, and the snow covered most of the parking lot.  That’s why we didn’t see the ice.  He slipped and fractured a bone in his lower left arm.”

“An accident?”

“Yes, ma’am.  We took him to the hospital, and they x-rayed it.  He has a cast now, and they gave him something for the pain and he’s…  um, sleepy, mostly.  We got him a hamburger and he’s really absorbed in trying to eat it with one hand.”

“Are you with the FBI?”

“By _with_ them, you mean…”

“Do you work for the FBI?”

“Yeah.  Um, I mean yes, ma’am.  Sort of.”  Where had his reputed silver tongue gone?  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stumbled this much over his words.  He hated to imagine what his aunt must think of him.  “It’s only been a few weeks.  I don’t feel real, yet.  I keep messing up, even when I think I’m doing the right thing.  But I have a badge.”  Oh, great.  He was rambling.  Why hadn’t he faked an accent to keep her from remembering this conversation if they ever met in person?  “I’m sorry we didn’t call you from the hospital.”

“I’m surprised the hospital didn’t call me, as Henry’s emergency contact.  Clearly they didn’t call his father.  Robert learned about it when the techs at his office texted him.”

“Oh.  That’s because Henry gave a different contact.”

“Really?”  In the background, Neal could hear what sounded like texting.  He could only guess what would happen when someone replied with the name of the emergency contact Henry had given.

“I should go,” Neal said, eager to get off the line before she saw his last name.  Henry’s father had hidden his animosity at first, but he hated Neal.  That had been rough, but Neal didn’t think he could handle hearing this woman with his mother’s voice call him a _worthless criminal like his old man_.  Even remembering Robert’s voice made Neal cringe a little.  “When Henry’s more alert I’ll remind him to call you.”

“Wait!  Did you say your name was Neal?”  She paused a moment, and while Neal held his breath rather than answer she continued, “Tell me your last name.”

“It’s not important.”  Neal looked up, catching Peter’s watchful eyes in the rearview mirror.  The words _I’m no one_ died on his lips.  He had a feeling Peter wouldn’t approve of saying that.  “Caffrey.”

“Neal,” she said in a voice so laden with emotions it would take an hour to name them all.  “Meredith’s Neal.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It sounded like she was laughing and crying at the same time.  “You can call me Aunt Noelle, sweetie.”

“I don’t think I can.  Not yet.” He hated to disappoint her, but it was the truth.  He’d rushed into thinking of Robert as an uncle and a father figure, with disastrous results.  Now he approached the idea of family much more cautiously.

“I see.  You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, how could you remember?  Taken away so young, and not allowed to bring any family photos.  They even made you change your name.”

Neal’s inner smartass made a resurgence to say, “Please don’t start singing ‘Candle in the Wind’.  I’m not a fan.”

She laughed, and some of Neal’s defensiveness melted.  He liked her.  “I suppose I should ask for proof,” she said.  “The Marshals would insist, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, they asked me for proof when I finally talked to them.” Neal wondered what kind of proof Noelle would expect.

“Henry had led us to believe he found you in Chicago and then you went your separate ways, but now I think he was misleading us for some byzantine reason. At the very least he’s kept track of you all these years, and maybe more.  In that time he would have told you some of the family pet names.”

He had.  Neal had thought it was a joke at the time.  These weren’t pet names, but a code used to verify identities.  What kind of family had code names for the family members?  Especially names like these.  But Henry had kept nagging until Neal had memorized the names.  “You’re Armageddon,” he said.

With that, Henry perked up, dropped what was left of his hamburger into the paper bag the restaurant had provided, and held out his right hand imperiously.  He wanted the phone.

Having gotten over the initial awkwardness, Neal didn’t want to give up the phone now.  Instead he asked his aunt, “Who picked those names?  They’re terrifying.”

“My older brother, David.  When he was in his teens and into dark comics and such, he got annoyed at the way Meredith and I switched identities on a whim and confused everyone.  He was probably a little jealous.  He introduced our code names and insisted that we had to be honest about which of us we were when those names were invoked.  Of course we selected a name for him, and then for our parents.  We even had them for our spouses, eventually.  I have to admit we ran out of creativity when it came to our children, however.  David’s best friend referred to you all collectively as ‘the spawn’ and we stuck with that.”

“Sounds like he didn’t like us very much.”

“He was upset at the time.  He vowed never to babysit anyone ever again.”

“Which one of us –”

“All of you.  We should have known better than to try that on his first attempt, but he was so confident he could handle it.   We have a photo of him asleep on the floor with you surrounding him like little conquerors.”

Neal smiled at the thought.  “I’d like to see that.  Do you still talk to my mom at Christmas?”

“Yes, she’s doing very well, all things considered.”

“I heard she stopped drinking after I left.”

“She has stopped drinking, but there wasn’t a cause-and-effect relationship between those events, sweetheart.”

“The evidence would indicate otherwise,” Neal said, realizing he sounded a bit a like Peter.  He felt as if he were drawing on his father figure’s patience and strength while dealing with a painful topic.

“I would suggest you’re looking at the wrong evidence, then, or missing some pieces.  Your mother had gone to rehab twice with disappointing results.  Before you left, it was obvious she needed help again.  I’d recommended a facility that took a different approach toward treatment.  She’d been on their waiting list for over a month when you left.  The fact that you ran away right before they had an opening for her was a coincidence.”

“She never said anything,” Neal said.  “I wish I’d known she was getting help.”

“And she wishes she had told you.  Sometimes she wonders if you would have stayed, if you’d known.”

Neal turned that over in his mind.  The main factors that had driven him away were the pain and shock of learning his mother and Ellen had lied to him almost his entire life about things as fundamental as who he was, and that his father was a murderer instead of a hero.  The drinking was a small factor in that picture.  “No, it wouldn’t have made a difference.”  But he wondered – once he’d been found in Chicago and had a chance to calm down, would he have been open to returning home if he’d had hope that his mom would stop relying on alcohol and actually have the strength to confront their past?  He would need more time to unravel his thoughts about that.

“I’d love to spend some time with you, Neal.  When Henry returns home to Baltimore on Sunday, can you come along?”

“No!  You…  You need to talk to Robert before you suggest something like that.  He wouldn’t like it.”

“Are you telling me that Henry introduced you to Robert, and not to me?” Noelle sounded miffed.

Neal could feel his pulse increasing, and realized he was breathing faster.  He hated that Robert still had the power to panic him, but he kept his voice calm.  “We all regret it, believe me.”

“Neal!  Either give me the phone or put it on speaker,” Henry insisted.

“Henry wants to talk to you,” Neal said, and handed the phone over to his cousin.  He closed his eyes and focused on relaxing.  Then he remembered his rapidly cooling hamburger and started to eat.

“Don’t push him,” was the first thing Henry said when he had the phone back.  “He’ll be gone in the blink of an eye…  Yes, that was a lapse of judgment, but it was almost four years ago.  I’ve learned my lesson, believe me…  Yes, he is, but we’ll talk about that when I get home…  Yeah, I’m fine.  It’s an annoyance more than anything.”  After a few more assurances that Henry was all right and a promise that he’d let his employers know, he ended the call. 

He returned the phone to Peter, traded phones with Neal, and checked his messages from Win-Win.  “These people need to get a life,” he muttered, before navigating to the number he wanted and placing a call.  “This is Henry Winslow, I’m returning Allen Winston’s call…  No, you don’t need to get him.  Tell him I’m fine and I’ll be back in the office on Monday as planned…  No, really…  Ah, hell…  Yes, Mr. Winston, as I was telling your assistant, I’m fine.  It was a minor accident and as you know we had been using my phone to track someone else.  That’s why I didn’t see your messages until a few minutes ago…  No.  Stop right there.  This is what we do.  The whole point behind all of our data and resources is supposed to be so that we can help people.  If I can’t do that, then I don’t belong at Win-Win…  No, I’m not going to be more careful.  I was walking across a stupid parking lot and slipped on a patch of ice.  That was embarrassing, not reckless.  I’m not going to stop walking in the snow, and I’m not going to stop looking after my family when they need me simply because the board has a panic attack at the thought I might get hurt if they let me outside the office…  Yeah, well think it over.  Tell me on Monday whether you want me to stay at the company, because I’m not going to change my mind.”

Henry hung up, and leaned back into the passenger seat.  He’d clearly put a lot of energy and concentration into those phone calls, and now he was exhausted.

Peter glanced over at Henry and asked, “What does your mother do for a living?”

“She’s a professor of psychology now.  She worked at Winston-Winslow before that.”

“What is it with Win-Win and psychologists?”

Henry smiled.  “We make great receptionists.”

Neal caught the surprise in Peter’s expression in the rearview mirror.  “It’s a long story, Peter.”

“I’d like to hear it someday.  Henry, why did your mother leave the company?”

“She quit to finish her PhD after I was born.  She got the divorce partly because Dad kept pressuring her to go back.  She figured out he’d married her to recruit her.  He thought bringing a psychologist of her caliber into the company would win him approval from the board.  And he thought, well…”  Henry ran his right hand through his hair.  “He thought any children he had with her would be genetically predisposed to be assets to the company.”

“And your mother had no idea?” Peter asked, abhorrence written on his face.

“She said love blinded her.  The thing is, he was right.  I’m good at the work.  I like it.  But it’s creepy knowing I was bred for it.”

“That’s why you resisted following in your father’s footsteps,” Peter said.  “And why Neal…”  Peter caught Neal’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Why I said I’d rather go to prison than be the reason Henry went to work for them,” Neal finished for Peter.  “But I also see the appeal of infiltrating them and shaking them up.  That’s very much in Henry’s skill set.”  Neal knew he should let his cousin fall asleep, but one thing kept nagging at him.  “Henry, why didn’t you ever tell me about being haunted by my disappearance when we were kids?”

“Hmm.  Good question.  I guess…”  Henry yawned.  “I guess I was supposed to be strong, when I found you, you know?  Make sure everything was taken care of, make you sure felt safe.  Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think it does,” Neal said.

Several minutes later, when Henry was asleep, Peter said softly, “He was waiting until he thought you were mature enough to handle learning that your big brother could be frightened.  And your stunt today frightened him again.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Peter asked.  “Do you get that I can be frightened, too?  Because I was, Neal.  Back in the warehouse, seeing Lucas point a gun at your head, I managed to hold it together until you were safe. But the thought of you dying, of seeing another pool of your blood like in that crime scene photo last night, that pushed me past a breaking point.  I couldn’t be rational, then.  I might not be rational the next time, either.”

“But there will be a next time.”

“Knowing you, and knowing the job, yeah, it will probably happen again.  I’ll try to be prepared for it.  But I also need you to be aware of the consequences.  Think about what it does to me, and to Henry, when you put your life on the line.  Think about whether it’s worth it, whether there’s another way to achieve your goals.  The alternative might be harder, or less likely to succeed, but for the sake of those of us you think of you as family, make the trade-off.”

“I can’t change who I am overnight, Peter.  But I do get it.  I’ll…  I’ll work on it.”

“I’ll do what I can to help.  We’ll try alternatives to surveillance assignments to teach you what you need to know about field work.  We’ll go through some past cases and scenarios, and talk through what you would do, what you _should_ do.  I know you can do this, Neal.  You can be great at it.  I’d just appreciate it if we can get there without giving me a coronary.”

“Yeah, I’d like to avoid that, too.”

“What were you doing outside when Henry fell?”

“We thought…  I thought it would be warmer in the truck.  It was my idea, Peter, not Henry’s.”

“He was right there with you, though, when I found you.”

“For all you know he was trying to stop me,” Neal suggested.  He didn’t think that was the case, but knew Peter would prefer that to be the truth.

“Did he try to stop you?  That wasn’t why he fell, was it?”

“No, he wasn’t faking the fracture.  I saw the x-rays.”

Peter shook his head.  “That isn’t what I meant.  You could see the pain in his eyes and in every movement.  I don’t believe either of you could have faked that all of this time.  I was asking if maybe there was a struggle.”

“He wouldn’t have tried to stop me like that.”

“How would he have stopped you?”

Neal thought back to the moments before Henry fell.  Henry’s last comment was that Neal shouldn’t drive.  What would have been his next step, if he wanted to keep Neal out of trouble rather than join him in trouble?  “He would have stalled.  He’d tell me the truck needed time to warm up a bit before we started driving, and guessed that you’d hear the engine.  You’d come running to stop us.”

“He’s smart.”

“Yeah, he is.”  And now Neal wondered if that really had been Henry’s plan.

“You know, it would have been warmer in the car, too.  But I’m guessing you wanted some distance after I said I was going to fire you, right?”  Neal nodded.  Peter was quiet for a moment.  Neal hoped he’d let it go.  But of course he couldn’t.  This was Peter, and he asked, “You were going to steal the truck, weren’t you, Neal?”

This was one of those times Neal really wished he could lie to Peter.  “Not exactly.  I planned to deliver it to the FBI impound lot.”

“Do you even know where that is?”

“No, but I thought I could call for directions.”

“You were going to call _after_ you took the truck?”

“Henry warned me you wouldn’t be happy, but I was already fired.  What difference would it make?”

“’Someone who thinks he’s already lost everything will throw caution to the wind.’” Peter said.  “Thomas was right.  For future reference, we impound vehicles in New Jersey.  And if you don’t get authorization first, taking a vehicle from a crime scene would be considered theft.  The Bureau doesn’t have a sense of humor about things like that.  And despite Win-Win’s many resources, I don’t believe Henry could get those charges dropped for you.”

“You could.”

“My job is to teach you the right procedures.  It isn’t to let you get away with flouting those procedures and then clean up the mess for you.  I meant it when I said I won’t tolerate breaking the law.”

Neal nodded, and they fell silent.  Neal watched the increasingly snowy landscape, but his mind was on Peter’s words.  For once he wasn’t annoyed by the heavy-handedness of the law.  This time, he felt a sense of warmth inside because Peter, who valued the law above almost anything else, didn’t want to abandon Neal when there was a conflict between the law Peter honored and the responsibility Peter felt for him.  The other so-called father figures in Neal’s life would have gladly sacrificed Neal to attain their personal goals.  Peter cared enough to drag Neal along toward a goal of lawfulness.   This father figure wanted to share his goals, and to achieve them together.

As they approached New York City, Neal became more aware of his surroundings, and the fact that Peter had been driving in patient silence all of this time.  “Sorry I didn’t offer to help drive,” Neal said.  “But I’ve never been good at winter driving conditions.”

“If the snow lasts through the weekend, I’ll teach you,” Peter offered.  “Growing up in upstate New York, I got a lot of practice.  And that’s what it takes – practice.”

Henry yawned and stretched tentatively.  “Better you than me, Peter.  I tried teaching him once.  He totaled my car.”

“Because you were a terrible teacher,” Neal countered.

“Because you were impatient, and tried stuff before you were ready.  You never could accept that I’m older and wiser than you, and always will be.  Just bow before my superiority in all things.”

“Right,” Neal scoffed.  “You couldn’t tell a Pollock from a Picasso.”

“I will admit that art is outside my area of expertise, but I’m not that ignorant.”

“You couldn’t tell a Rembrandt from a Renoir,” Neal said.

“True,” Henry said. 

Because Henry’s rental car was parked at the Federal Building, and neither he nor Neal were capable of driving it tonight, Peter offered to drop them off at Riverside Drive and to pick Neal up in the morning.  When they arrived at the Ellingtons’ mansion, Byron was asleep.  Neal introduced Henry to June, but she was distracted with worry about her husband, and Henry clearly needed one of the pills he’d been prescribed for pain.  The conversation didn’t last long.  Very soon Henry was upstairs and asleep.

In other circumstances, Henry would have tried to gain an invitation back to the FBI Friday morning, but this time he was happy to stay in the warmth and comfort of the mansion.  At breakfast Neal was dressed in a suit, but Henry wore a robe over sweats and a T-shirt.  Byron was wheeled into the dining room soon after they started eating, and he also wore a robe over pajamas.  He looked more frail than ever, but was alert and talkative.  Soon he and Henry were deep in a discussion of the psychology of con artists.  Neal thought they didn’t notice him leaving the room, but Henry turned around and asked Neal to grab a pen and paper before he left.  When Neal stepped outside to join Peter, Henry was busy taking notes and sounded as if he’d like to update his master’s thesis to cover the experience of the con man who manages to give up the cons.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“I’m still not fired?” Neal asked as Peter drove them to the Federal Building, but he smiled as he said it.

“Not yet,” Peter said, matching his tone.  “We have an exciting day ahead of us.  More paperwork to close out the case against Wickham, Denny and their colleagues.”

“Great.  Remind me to get coffee first thing.”  Neal was eying the radio controls, and Peter expected the car to be filled with music at any moment, but instead Neal asked, “Is the Sinclair case really closed?”

“It was more the Collins case than the Sinclair case, from our perspective.  Marie Sinclair’s actions are a matter for the police and CPS rather than the FBI.  But yes, unless you know of other pertinent information we should add to the file, it’s considered closed.  It’s in the hands of the prosecutors now to press charges against Collins, and they may ask us to testify.  That’s all that’s left.”

“Shouldn’t we follow up?  Someone has to make sure Marie Sinclair doesn’t cause trouble for the girls.”

Peter shook his head as he pulled into the parking garage.  “CPS will follow up with the kids.  And depending on whether Marie’s found guilty of assault for pulling that gun on Collins, she might have a probation officer.  But that’s all outside our jurisdiction.”  He parked and looked at Neal, whose body language communicated dissatisfaction with Peter’s answer.  “Neal, we aren’t staffed to follow up on everyone we meet to see if they’re getting into trouble again.  We wait for evidence of a crime and then investigate.”

Neal followed Peter out of the car, remaining silent as they walked through the lobby and entered the elevator.  A few floors up on their ride to the White Collar division, Neal’s frown dissolved.

“What?” Peter had to ask.

“I’ll have Henry do it.”

“Follow up on the Sinclairs periodically?”

“Yeah.  He’ll want to, now that he’s met them.  I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he does that for some of the cases he works at Win-Win.”

Peter almost told Neal that he needed to learn to let go of cases when they ended.  It would get to be overwhelming otherwise.  But he supposed that turning them over to Henry was a step toward letting go.  And it also indicated a couple of positive things.  First, that Neal expected Henry to stay with Win-Win.  And second, that Henry might provide the conscience Thomas had said Win-Win needed, in part because Henry wouldn’t want to disappoint Neal.

As they entered the office, Peter got the double finger-point from Hughes.  Peter walked upstairs expecting a request for a status on Henry and Win-Win.  But stepping into Hughes’ office, he saw a familiar face.  U.S. Marshal Simon Preston from St. Louis stood to shake Peter’s hand.  A Scandinavian blond, Preston was even taller than Peter.  Preston had been the one to meet with Neal in St. Louis a month ago, to arrange for the birth certificate and background Neal needed in order to work for the FBI.

“Marshal Preston is in New York for a conference this week, and asked if he could meet with you and Caffrey this morning,” Hughes announced.  “I’m going to get some coffee.  I’ll send up Caffrey.”

“Sorry,” said a sheepish Preston after Hughes left.  “I didn’t expect to cause such a commotion when I asked to talk to you.  Your boss wasn’t thrilled that I wouldn’t tell him what I needed to discuss.  If he pressures you for information, send him to the Marshal’s office.”

“I can handle it,” Peter said. 

Neal stepped into Hughes’ office, greeted Preston and asked, “What’s going on?”

“It’s been a month since we officially discharged you from WITSEC.  We want to make sure you’re adjusting.  Since I was in town, I volunteered to be the one to talk to you.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, taking a seat.  “Everything’s going all right.  I’d already established the identity I’m using.  It wasn’t exactly a big adjustment.”

“Have you given thought to contacting your extended family?  We can let them know that you’re no longer in WITSEC, and therefore it’s safe to get in touch again.”

“I’ve been in touch with a cousin on my mom’s side of the family,” Neal admitted.  “I don’t know much about my dad’s family.”

Preston grimaced.  “There’s not much family on that side.  Your Bennett grandparents passed away several years ago.  Your father had a stepsister, but they weren’t close.  Our records show she’s lived in Arizona since before your father was arrested, and that she didn’t have any contact with him during the trial or later.”

“Not much point in contacting her, then.  I can’t imagine she’d be interested in hearing about me.”

“For our records, is it your older cousin you’ve been in contact with, or the younger one?” the Marshal asked.

“There’s another one?” Peter asked.

“The older cousin, Henry Winslow,” Neal answered. “The younger one is in college, out on the west coast, Peter.  You don’t have to worry about that one yet.”

“Is there anything else the Marshals can do for you, Neal?”

“Can you get a message to my mom, and to Ellen?  I’d like for them to know that I’m out of WITSEC, and safe.  And…  I think they’d like to know that I’m working for the FBI.”

Marshal Preston paused before answering.  “I can probably get that through, but as a one-time request.  You understand we have to discourage communication between family members who are in Witness Protection and those who aren’t.”

“Yeah.  I know you want to keep them safe.  But I think they might be more inclined to stay put and follow the Marshals’ instructions if they know I’m doing okay and that I’ve settled into a stable life.  And that I’m not like my…  not like James.”

“I understand,” said Preston.  “And I agree it would be helpful.  I’ll do everything I can to get the message through to them.”  He stood.  “It’s been good to see you again, Neal.  As I said, contact me if you need help.” 

When Preston was gone, Neal took a deep breath.  “I’m not used to having a family, Peter.  I’m afraid of messing it up.”

“You’re not in this alone. I’ll help you, and so will Henry.  We’ve got your back.”  Peter cleared his throat.  “And, speaking of Henry…”

“He’s doing well.  Thanks for getting him to the hospital last night.  It would have been a nightmare without you.”

“Good.  You’re welcome.  But I wanted to know what he had in mind when he asked for you to cover for him this weekend.  Something with Shawn?”

Neal’s mischievous grin should have worried Peter, instead of making him smile in return.  “Enjoy the mystery, Peter.”

“Someday you’ll tell me.”

“You mean you’re going to trust me, instead of trying to find him in your files?”

Peter shrugged.  “We need something to talk about on those occasions when we’re working in the van, right?  I figure I’ll wear you down with my persistence and patience.”

“Yeah, you probably will.”

“And you’ll tell me about the receptionists at Win-Win, too.”  Seeing the agents filing into the conference room, Peter stood and said, “Looks like it’s time for the morning briefing.”

Neal stood, too.  “I’m trying, Peter.  I’m really trying to do things by the book for you.”

“Sometimes it seems like a whole new interpretation of the book.  But maybe we need to be shaken up a little.  A _little_ , Neal, not torn down from the foundation.  It’s just that I see how Henry can do good by shaking up Win-Win, and that makes me realize that getting set in our ways isn’t necessarily the best thing here, either.”  Peter waited until Neal was about to open the door to leave Hughes’ office.  “And Neal?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”  He didn’t add _Son_.  That didn’t seem appropriate in the office.  But the light in Neal’s eyes told Peter that the message was received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Silbrith for editing. Any remaining mistakes are my fault for continuing to tweak the ending.
> 
> That’s the end of this story, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> The next story in the Caffrey Conversation series will be a short piece called Caffrey Envoy; it started out as fluff but became angsty at the end. 
> 
> After that I’ll start posting a longer story more like By the Book, titled Caffrey Flashback. In that story, all of Neal’s repressed memories will come out to play as the result of another undercover assignment. Angst and H/C galore, and more father/son relationship.


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